


Tennessee Whiskey

by Superstitious



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Big Brother Harley Keener, Cliche, College Student Peter Parker, Denial of Feelings, Feelings, Feelings Realization, Friends to Lovers, Harley Keener Flirts, Harley Keener is a Good Bro, Harley Keener plays guitar, Harley Keener sings, Harley and Peter gets drunk together, Harley teaches Peter how to ride a horse, Idiots in Love, Jealousy, Keener Ranch, LiFe iS a HiGhWaY, M/M, Oops, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker gets stuck in Tennessee, Peter Parker is a Mess, Peter gets shitfaced though, Precious Peter Parker, Prissy Peter Parker, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, Sorry Not Sorry, Southern Boy Harley Keener, Strangers to Lovers, Will Peter ever learn southern hospitality, city boy meets country boy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-09
Packaged: 2020-11-01 14:16:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 34,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20816522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Superstitious/pseuds/Superstitious
Summary: When Peter’s Volvo breaks down in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, “just passin’ through” turns into a three-day stay at the Keener Ranch after Harley rescues him. Who knew one weekend could change Peter's life.Too bad he has to go back to New York after his cars fixed, right?***Slow-burn featuring domestic Keeners, hella pining and small town shenanigans.





	1. Friday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to @maywilder for beta-ing the Keener's dialogue and making this Northerner sound like less of an asshole. Also s/o to @SmolTownFangirl for helping me name literally ALL of the Keeners.

The summer sun beat down mercilessly on Peter’s back from its position above in a cloudless sky. A steady stream of sweat dripped down his forehead and pooled at the collar of Peter’s crew-neck. The feeling of damp cotton against his slippery skin was overwhelming and finally demanded attention. Pausing his examination of the Volvo's engine, Peter angrily tugged at the collar of his shirt. He mopped up the sweat at his brow and stepped away from the car. After rolling his shoulders a few times to ease the strain, Peter leaned back over the hood and squinted down at the metal parts laid bare beneath. He frowned. The damage wasn’t apparent, and he wasn’t a mechanic. All Peter knew was that the Volvo was stopped dead on the shoulder of a seventy-mile highway. There were no other cars for miles in front of or behind of Peter, just mountains and greenery.

He pulled his iPhone from the back pocket of his jeans and checked the time. It had officially been an hour since Peter’s ordeal had begun; when the dulcet tones of Sam Smith abruptly cut off and the Volvo broke down, stranding Peter on the side of the road. Shielding the screen from an overbearing sun, he tried once more to dial his insurance company. Though he back-light of his iPhone barely registered, Peter could still tell that his call wasn’t going through.

“Motherfucker,” he muttered while pocketing the phone again. Of course, the Volvo had to break down in the middle of nowhere, literally nowhere, Tennessee. Cell reception here was worse than in the underground subways of New York City.

A satisfying slam reverberated throughout the countryside as Peter slammed the hood of his Volvo shut. It was the only sound for miles. He shook off the thought of how eerie it made his predicament. Peter opened his driver’s side door and yanked a half-empty water bottle out of its cup holder. While inside, he popped the trunk before exiting the vehicle and making his way toward its rear. Peter rummaged through his suitcase in the back and grabbed the essentials, suddenly elated to see a months’ worth of over packed clothes. He shoved everything that could fit into his backpack before locking up the Volvo.

Peter was determined to find help, or at least reliable cell service, even if he had to walk a few miles for it. He taped a note to the driver’s side window listing his contact information, and an orange t-shirt billowed in the breeze from the rear passenger window. With a tinge of regret, Peter gave his beloved car a final once over before he set off. His eyes turned skyward, and he prayed that no one stole or vandalized the Volvo.

The road ahead was long and barren. The sun was cruel. Peter officially hated Tennessee.

Fifteen minutes into Peter’s expedition, he caught sight of a shape approaching from his left. It was moving fairly quickly across the rolling plains and heading directly toward him. Peter’s footsteps halted as he tried to figure out what the bouncing blob was, and if it was real or a heat-stroke induced mirage.

He took a few steps forward involuntarily while straining his eyesight. It was definitely a horse approaching and, _was that a person_? Peter squinted harder into the distance. Yes, that was definitely a man perched on top of the horse, and they were both galloping toward Peter. _Was this…normal_? Peter had never been south of the Mason-Dixon before this month – maybe people rode their horses as a mode of transportation every day.

Relief soon morphed into panic when Peter scanned the road ahead and behind, suddenly very aware of the fact that there was no one and nothing for miles. Panic bubbled up from deep inside his chest. What if this stranger meant Peter harm? He hadn’t shared his last location with anyone and, so far, Tennessee seemed like the perfect body dump. Peter nervously started to knead the strap of his backpack while he mulled over his options. He could run, but that venture seemed futile. Where was Peter going to run to when it was nothing but road and grassland for miles?

He had lived a good life, right?

Peter stood resolute and tightened his grip on the phone in his pocket. His body was taut with anticipation. His stance was firm. In the distance, a large brown and white painted horse and rider came into sharper focus as they neared. At a few hundred yards away, Peter could see more of the man’s details. He looked to be about his own age. Peter’s guard dropped a little at the sight; at least it wasn’t some armed and angry redneck.

When horse and rider were within shouting range the man called out, “Hey, you need some help?” The stranger steadily slowed his horse to a trot.

“Uh…” Peter looked behind him to where his car sat, a black speck in the distance.

The man’s gaze drifted down Peter’s line of sight while he let out a long whistle. “You picked ‘bout the worst place in Tennessee for a breakdown.” The stranger’s Southern drawl was more pronounced now that he was using an indoor voice. His horse came to a stop a few feet away from where Peter stood.

“It’s not like I _asked_ for my car to break down,” Peter huffed while he snapped at the man. He was hot from being under a Tennessee sun for the past hour and a half, irritated by the lack of cellular service and exhausted after already completing seven of his nineteen-hour drive back home.

“Whoa there darlin’,” the stranger said as he raised his hands in surrender, “didn’t mean no offense.”

Peter inwardly cringed at the thick as molasses, Southern twang. He felt like he was about to crawl out of his skin if he stood outside in the oppressive heat any longer. “It’s Peter Parker, not darling.” Shielding his eyes, he looked up to properly appraise the other man.

Blue eyes met blue as the stranger looked down, locking eyes with Peter. A lopsided grin formed on his handsome face. “Well, Peter Parker, the name’s Harley Keener. Would you care for some help, or ya just gonna stand there poutin’ at me?”

Peter sighed in defeat and dropped his hand. Yes, yes he did care for some help. “Do you have a phone that works on you?”

Harley laughed a low, throaty noise, “Sorry sweetheart, nearest cell tower ain’t for miles. I’ll have to take you back to the ranch to use our landline.”

Peter stopped listening to Harley after had said the word ‘ranch.’ Ranch as in…_farm_? He was already stranded on the side of the highway in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee. No, there was no way in Hell Peter was setting foot on a stranger’s farm. _Texas Chainsaw Massacre_, anyone? He’d seen the movies. Peter would sooner just wait while this, Harley, called him a tow truck.

Harley must have sensed Peter’s apprehension because he hurriedly added, “Ranch isn’t far, only ‘bout fifteen minutes or so out. Least I can do for you – besides, you look like you need to git outta the sun.”

Harley tipped his head back and looked up at the sky for emphasis. The unshielded rays spilled onto his face when the brim of his cowboy hat failed to protect him any longer. Peter was left a little breathless as he stared up at the man. He had to be a mirage conjured out of Peter’s exhausted and heat-fried brain. A beautiful mirage with a jawline that could cut glass.

“Do you…have a car?” The lack of a vehicle in sight confused Peter more than it reassured him.

“Course I do. Her name’s Rosie,” Harley said as he reached an arm down to pat his horse.

Peter visibly paled. He had never ridden a horse before, and there was no way he was going to start now. Peter would rather die before clambering up onto that back of the animal. “I — I don’t think that’s a good idea. I’ve never ridden a horse before.”

Harley’s face lit up. “Have you ridden a bike?”

“Yeah, I’m from the city – practically everyone does.”

“It’s all about the balance, darlin’. All you gotta do is hold on reeeaaal tight.”

Peter jaw clenched. The way Harley drew out his vowels wasn’t fair. Besides, there was no way in Hell he was getting that close to an attractive man while still gross and sweaty. “I think I’d rather just wait here for a tow truck.”

He took a step back, but Harley had already dismounted and was making his way toward him. When off of the horse, it was quite obvious that the other man was a good five inches taller than Peter. The cliché cowboy boots only served to add another inch. “Don’t worry, I gotcha.”

Harley offered a hand and Peter stared down at the offered appendage. He was _awfully_ tired of being in the sun.

Getting up onto Rosie’s back and into the saddle wasn’t as painstaking as Peter imagined. It was a little awkward, sure, but Harley handled it with ease. His warm hands gripped Peter’s waist to help him up and Peter felt a blush making its way across his face. Once they were both on top of Rosie, the two men took a moment to settle into the new position.

“Might wanna hold on, now.”

It was all the warning Peter got before Harley clicked his tongue and gently dug his spurs into Rosie’s flank. She jolted into a trot and they were off. The momentum jerked Peter in the saddle and his arms flew up to encircle Harley’s waist. Center of gravity back in balance, Peter became horribly self-aware. Almost every inch of his front was pressed against Harley’s back. The other man was radiating heat and, despite the cruel summer day, his flannel had a delightfully woodsy smell that seeped into Peter’s senses and right to his bones.

If Peter clung to Harley a little tighter than necessary on the ride back to the ranch, no one had to know.

“Since you ain’t ever been on a horse, you might be sore in the mornin’.” Harley told Peter as an afterthought.

_Well, that’s great._ Peter stood off to the side after Harley helped him dismounted Rosie. Now, the other man was grabbing brown paper grocery bags out of the saddlebags. In his flustered, roadside state, Peter hadn’t even noticed them tied down before now. The slamming of a screen door and the sound of running feet alerted Peter that someone else was joining them. He looked up and spotted a teenage girl running toward them, clad in cutoffs and a flannel.

Between the red hair and braided pigtails, Peter immediately thought of Anne of Green Gables – just a little blonder.

“Harley, where’ve ya been? Momma was startin’ to worry!” Her Southern drawl matched Harley’s. She started grabbing grocery bags to help unload the horse.

“Uh, do you guys need any help?” Peter butt in. He was standing on the other side of Rosie, temporarily forgotten. In an effort to calm his nerves, Peter fiddled with his backpack straps while his gaze drifted back and forth between the two.

In uncoordinated synchronization, two pairs of blue eyes turned toward Peter. He guessed they were siblings. “Who’s the stray?” The girl wearily sized Peter up.

Harley laughed. “Abi, this is Peter Parker. His car broke down on the highway and he needs to use our landline.” He gestured to the red-headed girl, “Peter, this is Abi Keener, my baby sister.”

Abi punched Harley in the arm with her free hand, face scrunched up in irritation. “I’m not a baby anymore, Harley!”

Peter smiled at the siblings as he held out a hand, “Nice to meet you.”

Abi eyed the outstretched limb for a long moment. Just before Peter was about to retract his arm, she shifted the paper bags and reached out to shake. Her grip was much firmer than Peter anticipated, and his eyebrows rose a little in surprise. A small smile crept up Abi’s face while she steadily crushed Peter’s fingers in her grip. Grocery bags were shoved into Peter’s unsuspecting arms before Abi turned to head back into the farmhouse. The interaction was so brief he almost thought it was make-believe.

Peter looked over at Harley, an eyebrow quirked. The other man just shrugged his shoulders in return. “Teenagers?”

Peter laughed and grabbed the remaining bags.

As the two walked toward the farmhouse, Peter was itching to ask the question that had been nagging at the back of his brain since they arrived. “Hey, why do you use the…uh…” he trailed off and gestured over to Rosie, tied to her post and happily munching on hay.

“Gas, mostly. Prices are absurd out here, so we only try’n run the truck if it’s necessary.”

Peter nodded; that made sense. They approached the front door that Abi had disappeared into and Peter took a moment to survey the property. Their house was a large, white two-story farmhouse and obviously very well kept. His first impression was that it looked rustic and lived in at the same time. _Cute_.

“Careful where ya step,” Harley warned.

The warning was very much appreciated since Peter couldn’t see jack shit in front of him with three paper bags in his arms. His right foot carefully felt its way up the steps leading to the front porch as his left followed behind blindly. Harley waited patiently while he held the door open, the hint of a smile ghosting his face. Their bodies pressed almost flush when Peter had to squeeze past Harley through the entryway.

“Once we unload, I’ll show you where the landline is.” Harley made his way around Peter to lead him through the first floor of his home.

Cold air hit Peter’s skin as soon as he stepped inside and he relished in it, very thankful for central AC. He hadn’t realized how close to heat-fatigue he was until now. After a moment more basking in the narrow hallway, Peter resumed following Harley until they reached a spacious kitchen. The wooden floors under Peter’s sneakers shuddered and creaked. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he should have taken off his sneakers.

Abi sauntered in after the duo and started unpacking the paper bags they had laid down on the wooden countertops. She wordlessly put their contents into the proper drawers and cabinets. Harley gestured to Peter with a motion to follow him. “Alrighty, now, for the landline,” he said while striding down the hallway, Peter in tow.

Harley rounded the corner and entered a small office off of the main entryway. The maneuver was so abrupt that Peter almost walked into his back. The taller man didn’t seem to notice and made his way toward an old wooden desk. He grabbed a pen and scribbled something down on the back of, what looked like, a piece of mail. Peter tried to play off their almost-collision and hovered a few feet away, waiting for Harley to finish.

“Now, here’s the number of the garage. Owner is Elijah – nice fellah but I reckon he’ll be a bit of a grump since it’s Friday,” Harley said matter-of-fact while he spared a glance over at the wall clock. “Normally, he likes to head down to the bar ‘round lunch time to try and woo the bartender, Anna-May.”

Peter nodded dumbly, even though he didn’t really understand what Harley was saying. “Elijah, owner, grumpy. Got it.”

He took Harley’s spot behind the desk while the taller man headed back to the kitchen. Peter waited until his heavy footsteps had completely faded before dialing the number with a heavy sigh. The dial tone rang and Peter impatiently tapped his foot against the wooden floor, too antsy to sit down in the desk chair.

“Elijah’s Auto,” a gruff voice crackled over the earpiece. Peter chuckled. Harley was right, he was kind of grumpy.

“Hi, my name’s Peter Parker. My car broke down on the highway leading into, uh,” Peter paused. He didn’t even know what damn town he was in. Later, Peter would need to ask Harley, “…town. I’ll definitely need a tow.”

The man on the other side of the line whistled so loudly that Peter had to pull the earpiece away. “Sounds like you need more than that, son. I’ll have my boys pick it up tonight and start lookin’ at it tomorrow.”

“Thank you! That’d be great!”

Peter gave Elijah a few more details about the Volvo and what mile marker he had pulled over at. They exchanged contact information and then hung up. As soon as the receiver clicked, Peter sagged into the leather chair in relief. Hopefully, his car would be off the road before dark and back on it by tomorrow.

“Harley Mason Keener,” Peter froze at the sound of an angry woman’s voice approaching, suddenly hit with vivid flashbacks of Aunt May when she was on the warpath, “what’ve I told you about coming home late! I reckon you –” she abruptly cut off when she reached the doorway and caught sight of Peter. “Heavens! You’re not my child.”

The woman clutched her chest in surprise. Peter stood up, ram-rod straight. She was tall and slender with the same reddish-blonde hair that Abi had. If Peter had to guess, he would peg her as no older than her mid-forties.

“N-no, sorry ma’am. My name’s Peter Parker. My car broke down on the side of the road.” He gestured weakly in the direction he’d come from. Peter would wager that he’d made more introductions today than in his entire life. “Harley brought me back here to use your landline.”

Wiping her hands on faded jeans, the woman walked toward Peter, who also moved forward to meet her in the middle. He tried to offer a handshake but was enveloped in a warm hug instead. “Macy McCoy.” She stepped back and evaluated Peter. “Would you like some tea? You’re probably dyin’ of thirst.”

Peter nodded and followed her back to the kitchen.

“What’d Elijah say about your car?” Harley asked as soon as Peter appeared in the doorway.

“They’re picking it up tonight and looking at it tomorrow.”

“Well then, Peter Parker, it looks like you’ll be stayin’ with us tonight,” Macy said as she dug through the refrigerator. Her tone was final; it wasn’t a question but an order.

“Oh no, you’ve already done enough for me. Just point me in the direction of a motel. Really, it’s fine!” The pitch of Peter’s voice was getting higher and higher as he spoke, mild distress setting in. He had expected this scenario to go a lot of ways, but being invited to stay the night definitely wasn’t on the list.

Macy walked over to Peter, container of blackberries in hand, and patted him on the shoulder. It was a very motherly gesture. It reminded Peter of May. “Don’t worry honey, we aren’t fixin’ to throw you out anytime soon.”

“Yeah, we have a spare room upstairs anyway,” Harley chimed in from across the kitchen. He was pouring a pitcher of iced tea into four glasses. Peter noted that the man was hatless now; shaggy, chestnut-colored hair fell into his face while he concentrated on the drinks.

“Abi, go see if granddaddy wants some.” Macy turned briefly to order her daughter out of the kitchen. Shifting her attention back to Peter, she smiled.

“Welcome to Rose Hill.”

\--

After Harley distributed the iced tea, he brought Peter upstairs to show him the spare room. Harley spoke over his shoulder as the pair ascended the staircase, “We have plenty of extra linen in the hall closet. Might be able to dig 'round and find some clothes too, if you need ‘em.”

“Nah, don’t worry I packed the essentials in here.” Peter patted the large backpack slung over one shoulder for emphasis. The ice in his glass clinked with each step.

Harley nodded, leading the way toward a bedroom down the hall. He swung the door open for Peter. “This’ll be yours! If you need anythin’ durin’ the night, my room is right across the hall.” He gestured to a wooden door behind him with his glass of iced tea. There was a blue ‘H’ fixed to the door.

Peter walked inside the guest room and tossed his backpack down onto the queen bed. “Noted,” he said while cracking his back and rolling his shoulders. Peter’s muscles were sore and stiff from hauling the rucksack around all day on top of seven hours spent behind the wheel.

“I’ll show you the bathroom then leave you alone for a bit. You’ll have to share mine. Hope ya don’t mind.” Harley looked a little apologetic.

Peter swallowed thickly. He could totally handle sharing a bathroom with Harley. Yup, definitely. Peter tried not to think about what Harley looked like with water droplets glistening on his sun-kissed skin after a shower.

“No, you and your family have done more than enough for me. I should be the one apologizing to you.”

Harley held up his free hand to stop Peter, “Now, listen here. You didn’t ask for this. I’m the one who brought you back to the ranch.”

Peter sipped from his glass as he contemplated Harley’s words. _Fair._ “I’ll probably shower real quick and then, uh…” Peter trailed off. What was he going to do afterwards?

Harley smoothed over the awkwardness with ease. “Alrighty, lemme know if you need anything. If you can’t find me, Abi, Momma or my granddaddy can help you.”

Harley was almost to the stairs when Peter remembered, “Hey, wait! Do you guys have Wi-Fi or something?”

A chuckle slipped past Harley’s lips as he turned back to Peter. “You city-slickers. Yeah, we have Wi-Fi, but it’s pretty shitty for calls. You’re better off just usin’ the landline.” He reached Peter again in a few long strides. Harley held out a hand, “Gimme your phone and I can connect you.”

Their fingertips brushed as Peter relinquished his iPhone. He could have been imagining it, but it seemed like Harley was standing closer than necessary while he fiddled with the device. If he was, Peter certainly wasn’t complaining. While Harley pecked away at the keyboard, Peter shifted from foot to foot until he was done entering (what seemed to be) the longest Wi-Fi password in the world. After another beat of silence, Harley handed Peter’s phone back with a wink.

“Thanks.” Their eyes met briefly before Harley pivoted to head back downstairs.

Peter watched the other man's retreating form before going back to the guest room. Before he entered, Peter paused and looked contemplatively at Harley’s door across the hall. Peter was nosy, blame it on city culture. He wondered what the country boy’s bedroom looked like. Shifting his gaze left and right, Peter neither saw nor heard anyone on the floor or coming up the stairs.

Just one peek.

Peter involuntarily took a step forward before his conscious reeled him back in. What the fuck was he thinking? Barely in the Keener’s house for an hour and already snooping through their rooms – especially after they offered him a place to stay. Peter took a long swig from his iced tea, letting the cold liquid slide over his tongue before swallowing it down. He was just hot and delirious from the day’s events.

He needed a shower.

The shower was a mistake.

Granted, Peter was gross and needed to wash away the day’s troubles, but he didn’t need to be enveloped by Harley’s body wash and shampoo too. Peter angrily lathered said shampoo into his hair and pondered.

Peter was bisexual. Everyone back home in New York knew it and it was fine. No one batted an eye. His mouth morphed into a slight frown, eyes still shut from the soapy water running down his face. The Keeners seemed nice enough, but this was still small-town Tennessee. Though Peter probably wouldn’t be here long enough for it to present an issue, he still planned to tread lightly.

While Peter finished rinsing his hair, the scent of Harley’s apple shampoo continued its assault on his nostrils. Parker luck was notorious. There was no way in Hell that his knight in shining armor on literal horseback, who also happened to be very attractive and close in age, could be into Peter. There was no way, no equation in the world, where things added up for him.

The brass knob on the shower protested as Peter forced it into the off position. He drew back the cloth shower curtain and shuddered as cold air hit his skin. Blind from the water dripping down his face, Peter clumsily groped for the towel he had hung up somewhere off to his left. No, Peter’s sexuality would hardly ever become topic of conversation. Everything would be fine and before he knew it, he’d be back on the road to New York.

Peter dried off and tied the towel tightly around his waist when it suddenly dawned on him: he had forgotten to bring clean clothes into the bathroom. Thoughtfully eyeing his dirty clothes from where they sat, neatly folded on top of the toilet seat, Peter contemplated putting them back on.

No, the guest room was only across the hall and a few doors down. If he hurried, he could make it without incident. Peter snatched his clothes up, set his jaw and opened the bathroom door. Tentatively peering out into the hallway he found that the coast was clear. Peter’s bare feet padded across the wooden floor and his head was on a swivel, senses on high alert as he crept along the hallway.

Things were going well until Peter heard the tell-tale sign of a door creaking open. Someone was exiting their bedroom. He turned his head just in time to collide with Harley as he stepped out of his room. The hand holding Peter’s dirty clothes flew to his front, protectively, while the other pushed back against Harley’s chest on instinct. Both men’s eyebrows flew up in surprise to see the other.

“Holy shit!” Harley had both of his hands braced against Peter’s biceps to stop the two from fully colliding. They were cold in comparison to Peter’s skin, which was still hot and dewy from the shower.

Peter looked Harley up and down in their close proximity. He had changed into a ratty t-shirt and ripped jeans, clearly dressed for farm work now. Meanwhile, Harley was doing the same to Peter. His eyes opened impossibly wider upon realizing Peter was naked except for the towel around his waist. Peter’s heart hammered out of his chest, too nervous to be self-conscious.

“You used my shampoo,” Harley stated, eyes trailing back up to Peter’s face.

“Yeah,” he responded dumbly, voice strained.

Peter used the hand on Harley’s chest as leverage to push himself away while the other man dropped his arms in tandem. Harley cleared his throat before nodding stiffly at Peter. In one smooth side-step, he stepped around Peter and strode down the hall. Peter watched him descend the staircase and listened as Harley’s heavy boots thundered all the way down. He stood in the hallway a little while longer while his brain tried to process what had just happened.

A short time later, a freshly showered Peter wandered downstairs. In all the day’s excitement he had completely forgotten to call May to tell her of his situation. He prayed to God she hadn’t tried to file a missing person’s report yet, or worse, gotten in the car and driven southward herself.

Peter did a brief walk-through of the house and couldn’t find a single Keener in sight. He shrugged; they must all be outside. The wall clock in the kitchen told him it was nearly four thirty. Peter made his way back to the study and hesitantly sat down in the leather chair behind the desk. This might be a long phone call.

Dialing May’s cell, Peter prayed she wouldn’t reject the call because it was an unknown number.

“Hello?” A familiar voice answered on the second ring.

“Hey! It’s me, Peter. Don’t freak out,_ but_…”

\--

Peter spent a solid hour on the phone with May. He thoroughly recounted the day’s events from start to present while she listened with minimal outbursts. May was initially apprehensive of the Keeners – he couldn’t blame her – but for some reason, Peter just _knew_ that they were good people. Besides, it was only for one night, right?

A screen door banged open from another part of the house and the clacking of claws on wood reached Peter’s ears, startling him from his thoughts. He made it as far as the entryway to the office when he was met by two German Shepherds. They eagerly alternated between sniffing Peter thoroughly and licking his outstretched hands. Immediately dropping to his knees, Peter started petting the dogs while muttering words of adoration.

“I see you met Beauty and Beast,” Harley said while he leaned against the opposite wall. Peter jumped a little from his position on the floor and met his eye. He hadn’t even heard Harley approach.

“You a Disney fan or something?”

“Naw, Abi got to name ‘em. Unfortunately for them,” Harley leaned down to pet one of the dogs as they licked his hand, “she was only six.”

Peter laughed and stood up. “Which is which?”

“Blue collar is Beast, green is Beauty. You can see Beast is a little bigger than his sister too.” Harley continued affectionately scratching Beast’s ears. “I hope you’re not allergic or anything.”

“Nope. Always wanted a dog, but we can’t have any in the apartment.” Peter looked down at Beauty and Beast wistfully.

“Well, I reckon they’ll enjoy the extra company.” Harley’s shirt was drenched in sweat and he smelled like the outdoors. Peter wished he could still look that good while being absolutely disgusting. Harley pushed himself off the wall. “Momma wanted me to tell ya that dinners at six!”

Before Peter could protest Harley had already brushed passed him. He took the stairs two at a time and was quickly out of sight. Not long after, a door slammed upstairs and the dogs ran off toward the kitchen. Peter followed.

Following the sound of glass clinking together, Peter entered the spacious kitchen and found Macy hunched over the sink washing dishes. Beauty and Beast swarmed her, and a soft laugh floated through the air. Macy wiped her wet hands on her jeans before reaching into a glass bowl on the counter to grab two dog treats.

“Were you two good today for Harley and Jack?” The dogs barked in response and she threw them their treats.

“Um, excuse me, Ms. McCoy?” Peter awkwardly walked into the kitchen, stopping to lean against the wooden island.

“Oh, hon, you aren’t a bill collector. Please, call me Macy.” She leaned against the sink to face Peter.

“You, uh, don’t have to worry about me for dinner. I’ll figure something out.”

Macy looked scandalized. “Peter, as long as you’re a guest in my house you’re not gonna starve.”

Peter blushed and stammered out, “I - I just don’t want to impose on you and your family.”

“I made chicken casserole tonight; there’ll be more than enough.” Macy was leaning her elbows on the island opposite Peter now. “Besides, you’re a refreshing sight to see in Rose Hill.”

“Is there anything I can help you with?” Peter looked around the pristine kitchen as he shifted from foot to foot.

“Nope! I put the casserole in the oven ‘bout forty minutes ago so she should be ready soon. Just make sure you’re back here by six.” Macy moved around the dark walnut countertops and gave Peter’s shoulder a pat as she exited the kitchen.

At six o’clock on the dot Peter made his way back downstairs. The further down the staircase he got, the louder voices could be heard talking in tandem. Peter wasn’t quite sure where in the house they were coming from, so he proceeded with caution. The first few rooms he passed came up empty. The formal dining room was Peter’s best bet, but as he passed the doorway he found yet another empty room. _Where are these people?_

“Wrong dinin’ room.”

Peter jumped a foot in the air and Abi snickered from behind him. “Fuck! You scared me.” He couldn’t help the expletive as he clutched his chest, heart still palpitating.

“Sorry. Momma wanted me to make sure ya didn’t get lost.” Abi was leaning casually against the doorway.

“Thanks.” Peter rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. He followed her past the kitchen and into the farmhouse’s informal dining room.

The first thing Peter noticed was an elderly man sitting at the head of the wooden, six-person table. This must be Harley and Abi’s grandfather. Speaking of Harley, the other man was already seated at the table while Macy was in the process of setting down a large casserole dish in front of him. Peter also noticed Beauty and Beast curled up on the floor by the older gentleman’s feet. Abi skipped over to take a seat next to Harley while Peter finished taking in the sight before him. He slowly moved toward the table.

Harley motioned for Peter to sit down when he noticed him lurking. “Don’t be shy darlin’! Sit down and eat.” Harley’s ‘sit down’ came out more like ‘siddown’ and Peter couldn’t help but smile. “I, uh, didn’t know what you wanted to drink so I poured you water and tea.”

“Thanks,” Peter said as his face flushed a little.

He took a seat across from Harley, stomach doing flips while his nerves were on end in the unfamiliar setting. Macy sat down next to him at the other end of the table opposite their grandfather. The seat to Peter’s right was empty.

“Jack, this is Peter. He’ll be stayin’ with us til Elijah fixes his car,” Macy said while she dug into the casserole first, plopping down a nice helping onto her plate.

“Nice to meet ya, son. Sorry you had to get stuck in Rose Hill,” Jack chuckled heartily as Abi took his plate and appropriated some of the casserole onto it. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he turned to his granddaughter when she gently set his plate back in front of him.

Peter took frequent sips from his iced tea as Harley and Abi divvied out some of the casserole to themselves. He wanted to wait until the family finished getting their food before he took some. Soon, an awkward silence fell over the table, with nothing but the clinking of glass and scrape of metal forks on ceramic plates to be heard.

“So, Peter, where are you from?” Macy broke the silence first as she scooped a few spoonful’s of peas onto her plate. “I’m guessin’ not from around these parts.” Abi snorted from across the table and Peter saw Harley elbow her out of the corner of his eye.

Peter felt his cheeks redden. He was grateful that his hands were busy fighting to get the chicken and rice casserole out of its glass dish. “I’m from New York City. Well, actually, I’m from Queens, which is technically the city, but May says it’s not really the city since it’s a little outside, but I go to college in Manhattan though, so...uh…I - yeah. I’m from New York City.” Peter cleared his throat and trailed off, blush deepening as he became self-aware. Four sets of eyes looked at him. He knew he was talking in circles.

Harley came to his rescue. “What college do you go to?”

“Columbia University. I just finished junior year.” Peter shoveled a forkful of casserole into his mouth and made a noise of appreciation. It was delicious. Back in New York, Peter and May lived off of take-out and instant meals because neither of them could cook for shit. A real, home cooked meal was a treasured rarity.

Jack whistled from the other end of the table, “Well, I’ll be damned! We got a genius stayin’ with us!” Jack smiled at Peter while he sipped from his glass of water.

Peter ducked his head shyly and laughed, “Nooooo, I’m really not.”

“What do you study?” Harley was leaning forward on his elbows, food abandoned, and looking at Peter intently.

“Chemical engineering,” Peter said between gulps of iced tea. He hated having this much attention on himself. His nose itched but he consciously ignored the urge to scratch.

“Smart boy indeed,” Macy quipped from beside Peter.

“This casserole is superb Ms. – uh, Macy,” Peter said after another gulp of water to direct the attention away from himself.

Macy let out an exasperated sigh and looked upwards. “Heaven, I’m glad you’re likin’ it. The casserole almost didn’t happen because _someone_,” she turned and fixed Abi with a stern glare, “decided to come runnin’ into the house while I was fixin’ to put ‘er in the oven.” Macy looked at Jack across the table and stabbed her butter knife in the air as she spoke, “Your granddaughter crashed into me and nearly ruined my dinner.”

“But I didn’t,” Abi chimed in as she leaned across Harley, who pushed her back irritably. He flashed Peter a quick smile and a wink when their eyes met. Butterfly’s soared in Peter’s stomach.

Just like that, the table ignited with conversation. The Keeners fell back into their normal dinner routine while Peter was merely a visitor there. His head was on a constant swivel, unsure of whose conversation to keep track of. Abi and Jack were talking a mile per minute about Abi’s summer reflection for school (she was entering her sophomore year of high school, Peter found out), while Macy and Harley were talking in serious tones about farm-things.

Peter was content to continue eating in silence as he watched the family. Throughout his entire childhood back home in Queens, it was just him and May in the apartment. While Peter never wanted more than his aunt, his heart strings tugged at seeing the Keeners. A sense of yearning and loss hit him like a ton of bricks. So, this is what having a _real_ family felt like.

“Peter, sweetheart, can you pass the peas?”

Harley’s voice derailed Peter’s stream of consciousness and brought him back to the kitchen table. Peter shook his head, shaking the thoughts from his mind, and picked up the blue ceramic bowl sitting off to his right, wordlessly handing it over to Harley. Peter reached for his glass of water again and took several long swallows until it was empty.

“Speaking of sweethearts,” Macy cut in, authoritative voice cutting off all other conversations being had, “I forgot to tell y’all the latest gossip.”

She paused dramatically. Abi huffed impatiently, “Momma, tell us already!”

Macy turned to Peter conspiratorially but spoke loudly enough for all to hear, “I was at the hairdressers yesterday when Kennedy Kline walked in.” Groans could be heard from around the table.

“Sorry, who’s Kennedy Kline?” Peter cut in, wanting to know what this woman did to garner such a reaction.

“Oil heiress and town gossip,” Harley explained briefly. “If anythin’ gets started in Rose Hill, Kennedy Kline is probably behind it.”

“Let’s just say she’s not the sweetest cookie in the batch,” Macy winked at Peter who grinned in return. “Anyway, Beau’s daughter, Amelia, got married last Saturday – Beau is the mayor of Rose Hill, Peter.” Peter nodded and tried to follow along. “What we didn’t know though, was what Beau’s nephew did at the weddin’.”

Harley groaned and hid his face in his hands. Abi sniggered and turned her blue eyes toward Peter, “Mr. Beau’s nephew is Teddy Beaudrough. He’s also Harley’s ex-boyfriend.”

Macy shook her head. “Handsome face, but that Teddy is as dumb as dirt, bless his heart.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh as he looked over at Harley, who shot him a sheepish expression in return. The family continued talking about Teddy Beaudrough and Mayor Beau, but Peter wasn’t listening anymore. One key word rattled around his brain: ex-boyfriend.

Harley Keener had an ex-boyfriend. Harley Keener liked men.

Peter was reaching for his glass of iced tea faster than a bat out of hell and downed its contents in record time, the second empty glass joining his first. Thankfully, the family hadn’t noticed.

Sudden, raucous laughter filled Peter’s ears and he tuned back into the conversation. “I’m sorry, can you repeat that?” Peter was ashamed to admit he had spaced out.

“Sure, honey. I know it’s hard to believe.” Macy was still chuckling and blissfully unaware of Peter’s internal crisis inches away. “So, durin’ the ceremony, right when Amelia was readin’ her vows at the altar, Teddy leans over the pew – front row – and was sick as a dog. _Everywhere_.”

Macy emphasized the last word and everyone around the table grimaced.

“What was he doin’, drinkin’ again?” Jack frowned and shook his head from across the tabletop.

“No, even worse. Harley, prepare yourself.” Harley looked a little sick himself as Macy continued, “Teddy went and knocked up some poor girl. They wanted to keep it a secret, but her family threatened to make a fuss.”

Abi looked thoughtful. “It was probably Sue-Ellen. There were rumors Teddy was datin’ her at the end of the school year.”

“Rosalene Abigail Keener,” Abi pouted when Macy used her full name, “I swear on my grave if you ever get pregnant out of wedlock, I’m gonna tan your hide!”

Harley started chuckling before it turned into outright laughter. Jack joined in and soon Peter was grinning along too, as was Macy. Abi was the only one who still looked a little sour.

The rest of the meal ended without a hitch. It was filled with more laughter and anecdotes as the sun set through the giant bay window in the dining room. Peter had offered to clean up the dishes as a thank you for dinner while Harley volunteered to help him. Macy graciously accepted both of their offers. Peter rinsed everything off while Harley loaded the dishwasher.

“So, I see you have an interesting taste in boyfriends,” Peter teased as he poured the contents of someone's glass down the sink.

Harley groaned and scrubbed a hand over his face. “That was a long time ago. 'Sides, Teddy is cute as a button,” he paused, “but Momma was right, dumber than a box of rocks.”

Peter chuckled and handed off a plate to Harley. “Seems like you should raise your standards.”

Harley took the plate from Peter as their eyes met and their fingers brushed. Their gazes lingered for a little longer than necessary on each other, but Peter broke away first.

“Yeah, maybe I will.”

Peter was so focused on scrubbing the dish in front of him that he missed the appraising look Harley gave him, eyeing the shorter man up and down.

By the time Peter dragged his feet upstairs and to the guest room, he was beat. Between the seven-hour drive, roadside debacle and being at the Keener’s, he was dead on his feet. Peter changed into an oversized t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants before making his way to the bathroom, toothbrush in hand.

As he approached the lavatory, Peter noticed the door was open and the light was on. His brain didn’t think anything of it though, too mission oriented on crawling into bed afterwards. The sound of running water became louder as Peer drew nearer. All of these details still didn’t click in Peter’s head until he was standing in the doorway and watching Harley brush his teeth.

Shirtless.

Peter’s brain was definitely awake now. Awake and alive. The other man hadn’t seen him yet, so Peter took this rare opportunity to enjoy the view. Harley was tan and muscular from a lifetime spent growing up on a farm. His arms flexed while he brushed his teeth and Peter’s gaze traced down the hard lines of Harley's torso. He grinned stupidly; this was surely reparation for the shower incident earlier today.

Harley jumped a little when he turned around and saw Peter standing in the doorway. Peter tried to compose his posture into something decidedly less creepy. “Sorry, I figured I’d just wait until you finished.”

Harley gave him a small smile, “She’s all yours.” He sidled out of the bathroom and Peter held his breath when Harley pressed close to him while rounding the corner.

“Night, darlin’.”

Peter hurriedly finished his business in the bathroom and practically ran back to the guest room. He collapsed into the loving arms of his bed and settled in for the night. Closing his eyes, Peter drifted off almost immediately, thoughts of rolling plains and a country boy swirling through his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> @Spooky-Parker on Tumblr


	2. Saturday

The first rays of morning sunlight were sneaking into Peter’s bedroom window when a rooster started crowing. Woken by the sound, Peter groped blindly around the nightstand. His hands searched for an alarm clock that wasn’t there. Slowly, Peter’s brain realized that the offensive noise was coming from somewhere underneath his bedroom window.

Reality hit him like a ton of bricks and Peter shot up in bed, his mountain of spare pillows toppling over onto the floor. This wasn’t his bedroom in Manhattan. Yesterday’s events flooded back in a rush while Peter searched the sheets for his phone. The glowing screen, harsh against the soft lighting of dawn, told him it was only 5:40 am. Peter groaned and tossed the iPhone toward the foot of his bed while he flopped back onto the mattress. In the hallway outside his closed door he could already hear footsteps on the wooden floors; the other occupants of the house were waking up.

Peter’s hands lay clasped on top of his chest while he stared up at the ceiling, mulling over whether he should get up with the rest of the Keeners or go back to sleep. _Better stay out of their way for a little longer_, he thought as he rolled onto his side and pulled the blankets up over his head. The sun’s rays were effectively blocked out and Peter let sleep take him back into its clutches.

The second time Peter woke up was to the wafting aroma of frying bacon. Soft laughter floated up through the wooden rafters and snuck into his room as well. He ran a hand through unruly curls that were thoroughly tangled from sleep. Peter rubbed his eyes and, again, fumbled blindly in the sheets for his phone. This time, the screen displayed 8:54 am. Still earlier than he would normally prefer on a Saturday, but it was better than five am.

Peter rolled out of bed and drew back the curtains. He was greeted by another day of relentless sunshine. Bending over to pick up his dirty shirt from the day before, Peter felt a twinge of pain flare up in his lower back. The more he moved, the more his inner thighs tingled in discomfort as well. Harley’s admonition of being sore from riding Rosie immediately came to mind. Peter sighed and tossed the dirty garment into his backpack before pulling on a pair of sweatpants and a clean t-shirt.

Slowly, Peter made his way down the hall and toward the bathroom. Checking his phone as he walked, Peter saw he only had one bar of service, unsurprisingly. A quick text was sent out to May (that would probably take two hours to send) before he set his phone down on the edge of the marble sink. Sighing loudly, Peter ran his hands over his face and stared at his reflection in the mirror. His dark circles were more prominent than usual, faint imprints from the bed sheets were scattered across his left cheek, and Peter’s normally neat, gelled back curls were free from their confines.

Deep in thought, he looked down at the marble basin and braced both hands on the sink. Peter turned the tap on and ran a hand under it while he waited for the water to run hot. The heat and humidity of Tennessee had rendered his hair gel ineffective fairly quickly yesterday evening. It’s not that he was self-conscious of his tresses, but Peter didn’t particularly like his mop of curls. There was a good reason why he’d spent the last six years diligently taming them with styling gel, and Peter wasn’t thrilled to abandon it for the weekend.

After finishing up in the bathroom, Peter quietly made his way down the wooden stairs in case other occupants of the house were still sleeping. The sound of conversation became louder as he descended. Peter could make out Macy and Abi talking in the kitchen. When he reached the foot of the stairs, Beauty rushed over to greet him. Her claws clacked on the hardwood and Peter noted that Beast was nowhere to be found. Peter scratched Beauty’s ears and led her back toward the kitchen.

His stomach growled loudly, announcing Peter’s presence, and two sets of blue eyes turned to face him.

“Mornin’ sweetheart! Hope we didn’t wake you too early.” Macy was stirring what looked like pancake batter in a mixing bowl. A carton of eggs was sitting next to her while Abi cooked bacon on the stove-top.

Peter subconsciously ran his fingers through his hair in another effort to tame the mess on his head. “No, but some animal definitely did,” he said as he refilled the glass of water he had taken to bed with him last night.

Abi snorted. “That ‘animal’ is Hank, our rooster.”

Peter took a long gulp of cold water before speaking, “Is there anything I can help you two with? I’m your houseguest, after all, and feel like I should be doing so much more.”

“If you wanna get the blackberries out of the fridge, you can start washin’ ‘em for me and then put ‘em in a bowl.” Macy was pouring another round of pancakes into the frying pan.

Peter set his glass down on the island before opening the refrigerator.

“Harley and Jack are still tendin’ to the animals, but they should be back soon for breakfast.”

Beauty bumped against Peter’s thigh and he looked down, scratching her head absentmindedly again. She panted in response.

“Beauty’s a beggar. She’ll try anythin’ to get food off of ya.” Abi said over the sizzle of bacon.

Peter laughed as he pulled the container of blackberries out of the fridge. “What bowl do you want me to put these in?” Macy wordlessly opened a cabinet to her right and gestured to a large, plastic bowl on the middle shelf. Peter pulled it down and maneuvered his way back to the sink to start rinsing off the fruit.

The screen door slammed open and Harley breezed into the kitchen. “Granddady’s finishin’ tyin’ up the horses.” Beauty sprung up from where she was laying on the floor to greet him.

Peter looked over Abi’s shoulder toward Harley and wished he hadn’t. Harley was clad in a pair of ratty jeans that hung low off his hips, a thin, white v-neck and worn-leather boots. The shirt was almost completely see through up top from how drenched in sweat it was. On other men, Peter wouldn’t normally find this look attractive, but on _this_ man, it was almost scandalous. Peter’s gaze zeroed in on Harley’s clavicle. His collarbones were more prominent than ever as the neckline gaped open and the tendons in his neck flexed while he talked and petted Beauty. A lone bead of sweat started its descent down Harley’s neck, across his collar bone and disappeared under his shirt. Peter’s eyes followed it like a hawk.

“…Peter?”

Macy’s voice was loud and questioning. Peter tore his gaze away from Harley and whipped around to face her. He soon realized that three sets of eyes were on him. Two were slightly concerned, one was amused.

“Um, sorry…what?”

“I asked if you’re done with the sink. That water’s been runnin’ for a hot minute, hon.” Macy gestured with her spatula to the sink in front of Peter. The blackberries were swimming in water as their bowl overflowed. Some had even spilled over and made their way into the stainless steel basin.

Peter’s entire body was flushed for entirely different reasons, but the tips of his ears burned hot with embarrassment. One hand combed through his curls once again as the other roughly turned off the sink. He started draining the bowl. Around him, the Keeners resumed their normal conversation. Harley left to take a shower, Abi finished frying up all of the bacon and Macy plated the last of the pancakes. No one seemed to linger on Peter’s earlier episode, but he couldn’t stop replaying it.

Huffing in annoyance, Peter moved from the sink to the island so he could transfer the blackberries into the original vessel Macy had picked out for them.

“Peter, can you start movin’ stuff over to the kitchen table? Abi, be a dear and start makin’ the eggs.” Macy patted them both on the back before she took off her apron, wiping her hands on it. She hung the apron over a hook on the wall beside the refrigerator before walking out the backdoor, taking Beauty with her. “Don’t forget to check on the grits!” Macy’s voice floated through the open bay windows in the kitchen as she made her way toward the barn.

Peter saw Abi’s face turn into a grimace from the corner of his eye. “What, not a fan of grits?”

She shook her head while she stirred the grits. “Naw, Momma says you can’t hate grits in Tennessee, but I don’t like the texture.”

“The last time I had grits was over winter break.” Peter turned to look down at Abi. “My Aunt May took us to Cracker Barrel for breakfast when we were visiting my grandparents. They do have a funny consistency, now that you mention it.”

Peter walked over to the kitchen table and set down the blackberries and the bottle of maple syrup that Macy had left on the counter. He missed Abi’s eyebrow raise when he mentioned Cracker Barrel. “I found that if you just sprinkle a little sugar on them, they taste a lot better.”

Abi blanched, but hid it behind barely contained laughter, “Please say that again durin’ breakfast.” She turned away from Peter and cracked the first egg over her frying pan.

Odd request, but Peter made a mental note to ask for sugar for his grits during breakfast.

A short time later, a freshly showered Harley joined Abi and Peter downstairs. He grabbed a stack of plates from beside Peter and started setting the table. Peter followed suit behind him with a pile of silverware. He pointedly ignored the mischievous grin that Abi gave him while he trailed after her brother.

Just as Peter finished shuttling the last of the food over to the kitchen table, Jack and Macy returned from outside. Beauty and Beast were at their heels and stormed into the kitchen to greet everyone. Abi and Harley took their seats around the table in the same spots as last night while Macy and Jack washed up. Peter sat across from Harley again and gave the man a small smile when their eyes met across the table. Harley added a wink and Peter felt a blush coming on. Why must his body hate him like this. His gaze drifted away from Harley and toward the fresh sunflowers someone had placed on the table.

“Well, I don’t know ‘bout y’all, but I’m hungrier than all git out.” Macy sat down at the head of the table next to Peter, glass of water in hand.

Beauty and Beast curled up dutifully under Jack’s feet while murmurs of agreement filled the silence of the dining room. A few beats of calm passed before everyone moved in sync to maneuver the food around each other. Peter’s ears were ringing with all the ‘please’ and ‘thank yous’ he heard between the passing of pancakes, eggs, bacon, berries, syrup, butter and grits.

Speaking of grits, Peter remembered what Abi had said earlier. “Hey Macy, do you have any sugar for the grits?”

All breakfast conversation stopped dead as three pairs of eyes turned toward the matriarch of the family. Macy looked pained while she tried to smooth over a look of disgust, always the perfect hostess. "Honey, I really like you, but south of the Mason-Dixon we do _not_ put sugar on our grits. No sir." She shook her head sternly, vehemently.

Peter’s face scrunched up in confusion. “But Abi -”

“Yeah, Peter, sugar on grits is a sin,” the girl in question cut in. Abi had a shit-eating grin on her face while she leered across the table.

Across from Peter, Harley’s face was visibly twisted in disgust. Abi continued to laugh beside her brother, small tears welling up in the corner of her eyes now. Jack was conveniently hard of hearing throughout the entire ordeal.

“Darlin’, I’m gonna let that slide since you’re pretty as a peach, but sugar on grits is definitely a cardinal sin.” Harley stabbed a pancake furiously, probably pretending it was Peter.

Macy rested a hand reassuringly on Peter’s arm, giving it a slight squeeze. “Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll make a Southerner outta you yet.”

Peter turned back to his breakfast, good mood a little deflated. He pushed a hand through his hair and then reached for his glass of water. Mid-gulp, a rough, warm sensation coated his left hand from where it rested in his lap. Peter looked southward and saw Beast licking his hand, probably reassuring him that he wasn’t an idiot. Peter smiled to himself. At least the dogs would always love him.

As Peter replayed their breakfast conversation over again, one sentence distinctly stood out in the forefront of his brain. It kept him distracted for the rest of the meal as Peter played with it, fiddled with all the permutations, and still came to the same conclusion: Harley Keener thought he was cute.

\--

“Peter! Phone for ya!” Macy called up the stairs.

Peter peeked his head out from the spare room to shout down to her, “Be right down!”

When Macy called for him, Peter had just finished showering. His hair was still damp and he was barely dressed. Peter had previously been fussing with his curls in the mirror while he tried to find a way to tame them in the heat. Hair situation abandoned, Peter threw on a clean pair of jeans and tossed a ratty, Midtown Tech t-shirt over his head before exiting the guest room. Making his way down the wooden staircase, he weighed the pros and cons of using Harley’s shower products:

Con: Harley’s shampoo was neither anti-frizz nor made for curls.

Pro: Harley’s shampoo smelled like apples.

Con: Harley’s shampoo made Peter smell like Harley.

Pro: Harley’s shampoo _made Peter smell like Harley_.

It was official, divine intervention was coming for Peter in the form of a man from rural Tennessee.

The office was empty when Peter entered, but the phone sat idle on the desk with its ‘hold’ button blinking rapidly.

“Hello?”

“Hey, son, this is Elijah from the Auto shop,” a familiar gruff voice once again filled the earpiece.

Peter nodded before realizing that the man couldn’t see him through the phone. “So, uh, what’s the damage?”

“Well, good news is it’s an easy fix…” Elijah trailed off.

“And? What’s the bad news?” Peter was holding his breath, almost afraid to ask. He idly twirled one of his stray curls to keep his nerves at bay.

“Bad news is that yer car’s gonna need a new part and the earliest they can get it in is tonight if I put a rush on it.”

“When would it be ready for pick up?” Peter asked. His voice came out strangled.

“Sunday is the best case scenario. Monday for sure.”

Peter sighed loudly into the phone as Elijah chuckled in the background. “Sorry son. I’ll try’n have her fixed up as quick as I can.”

“Thank you so much, really, you’ve been great.”

A distinct ‘click’ told Peter that Elijah had hung up on him without another word. So much for Southern hospitality.

The next phone call Peter made was to May so he could fill her in on the status of the Volvo. She was worried about Peter extending his stay in Tennessee, and Peter was too. He didn’t expect the Keeners to host him for another night.

By the time he hung up with May, Peter had fully prepared a speech for the Keeners. His plan was to tell them to drop him off to the nearest motel, and then give them some money for hosting him. Peter made his way upstairs and started packing his things, intent on telling Macy that he was leaving as soon as he finished.

“Young man, what do you think you’re doin’?” Macy was standing in his doorway as Peter packed. He jumped a little at her voice.

“Elijah said my car won’t be ready until tomorrow, maybe even Monday. I figured I should just take my stuff and have you, or – or Harley drop me off somewhere in town. I can give you money, or whatever you guys want in return for hosting me this long.” He rotated to face Macy, who was leaning against the door frame with a laundry basket propped against her hip.

“Nonsense! We’re not fixin’ to kick you out anytime soon.”

“No, really, it’s fine. I need to get my suitcase outta the trunk anyway, so I’d have to drive into town regardless. Just point me in the direction of the nearest hotel in town and I’ll be out of your hair.” Peter smiled in what he hoped was a sincere manner.

“Harley can take you in the truck. We need to pick up a part from Elijah anyway for our tractor.” Peter opened his mouth to protest further, but a stern look from Macy stopped squashed any objections. “Lemme put this laundry in the machine and then I’ll go tell Harley. Do you have anythin' dark you want washed?”

“No, but thanks for asking!”

As soon as Macy left his room Peter started unpacking his backpack once again. He was very relieved that Macy hadn’t kicked him out of the house. A short time later, he exited the guest room and wandered downstairs. Peter peeked into each room on the first floor as he walked and found the house to be devoid of humans and animals. Upon entering the kitchen, Peter immediately felt a faint breeze on his skin and heard the distant sound of voices floating in through the open windows. He moved closer while his sneakers left a trail of groaning in their wake across the old wooden floors.

Looking out the window, Peter saw Macy and Harley talking in the driveway. He swiftly moved toward the kitchen door and exited to join them outside. Peter flinched when the screen door slammed behind him. May hated when he did it in their apartment.

The second that Peter set foot outside, the sun’s rays hit him full force. It was another hot, humid day in Tennessee. _Go figure_. Peter could already feel his hair frizzing up and attempted to tame it back with his fingers. He sighed; at least this was the middle of nowhere, Tennessee and not back home. Peter talked himself into feeling slightly better about his appearance.

“Peter, perfect timin’!” Macy saw him coming from over Harley’s shoulder.

Harley turned around and nodded his head at Peter in acknowledgement, “Yeah, whenever you’re ready we can head into town!” Harley raised his voice a little to call to Peter, who still stood a respectable distance away from them.

“I’m good to go!” Peter gave them a thumbs up.

Harley nodded again and turned back to Macy. Peter waited while the two finished up their conversation, voices lowered now so Peter couldn’t discern their words. He took the time to give Harley a brief once over. The other man was clad in dark wash jeans and yet another flannel. Green this time. His cowboy hat was back too, perched atop Harley’s head.

Macy took Harley by the shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze. Peter took that as the cue for their conversation wrapping up. She turned to give Peter a small wave before she went back into the farmhouse. Harley gestured for Peter to follow him as he led the way toward a black Ford F-150. His boots crunched on the gravel.

Peter opened the passenger side door and used the chicken handle to haul himself up and into the passenger seat. “For some reason I pictured something…different.”

“What,” Harley put his key into the ignition to start the truck, settling into the driver’s seat as the engine roared to life, “some ratty pick-up with a lift kit? Maybe three American flags hangin’ out the back and a confederate flag sticker?”

Peter blushed and held his head in shame, nodding sheepishly. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. The stereotype is real and you’ll probably see it once we get into town.” Harley laughed and Peter smiled. It was a nice sound.

The moment was ruined, however, when Harley turned on the stereo. The dulcet tones of a twangy banjo filled Peter’s ears and he immediately made a noise of disgust. His face contorted into a pained expression.

“What, you gotta problem with country music?”

“Harley, what do _you_ think?” He tried to hold back the sass. He really did.

The two drove in a comfortable silence for the next fifteen minutes. The pick-up’s windows were down, Peter’s hair was billowing in the wind and he was content to take in the sights as they flew by in a blur of green. Harley wasn’t lying, they really drove through fifteen minutes’ worth of various field types. He saw flowers, grass, animals and produce – but no other people. In the time it took to reach the actual town of Rose Hill, they had passed only one other car. _Geez, this really is the worst place to break down._

“Okay, I’m officially convinced that if you hadn’t rescued me on horseback, I would have been walking aimlessly for weeks.”

Harley snorted and lazily looked over at Peter. “Definitely not weeks.” Peter was about to make a joke, but Harley wasn’t done speaking, “Maybe a few days, for sure. Pretty little thing like you'd probably pass out in the first few hours, though.”

"It is very...warm."

"Warm? Darlin', it's hotter than the devil's backyard, and he'd have scooped you up once you passed out in the pasture."

Peter balked at Harley’s words and didn’t speak for the rest of the drive. Instead, he wracked his brains trying to figure out _what the hell_ Harley’s God-awful metaphor meant. Beside him, Harley just hummed along to the radio.

The town of Rose Hill was cute. There was only one main street, but it was comprised of colorful buildings that hosted bakeries, shops and the only café in town. Since it was a Saturday, plenty of people were out and about and it painted a quaint picture of small town living. The temperature was still too hot for Peter’s liking; sun a little too merciless in another cloudless sky. Their truck passed through the strip in a disappointingly short amount of time as they made their way to the auto shop on the other side. Driving through, Peter noticed that a lot of folks recognized Harley and sent a wave or two their way.

Elijah’s Auto wasn’t a huge garage, but it was formidable considering the size of the town. One of the two garage doors was open, and Peter could see his Volvo being inspected by an older gentleman – he guessed Elijah. Another man closer to Peter’s age was walking toward the back of the shop. Harley parked the pick-up out front and they both exited the Ford in sync.

The stifling heat hit Peter like a train as soon as his sneakers touched the ground. He was already feeling the pinpricks of sweat threatening to spill from his skin and accepted long ago that his hair would be in a perpetually wild and unruly state. Peter spotted a ratty pick-up truck with a lift-kit parked off to the side of the garage as he walked around Harley’s Ford. He chuckled to himself.

“Harley, good to see you again!” This man was definitely Elijah. The voice from the phone was unmistakable.

“Always a pleasure.” Harley tipped his hat as he and Peter approached the garage. Peter saw that the other younger gentleman from earlier was nowhere in sight.

“Peter, I reckon?” Elijah extended a hand toward him.

“Yup! Thank you so much again for pickin’ up my car.” Peter cringed a little at how easy the southern slip-up came out of his mouth. His four new housemates lived and breathed the south – it was only a matter of time before it imprinted on Peter. He returned Elijah’s handshake with a firm grip and pointedly ignored the sweat starting to roll down the back of his neck.

Elijah led Peter inside the garage toward his car while the two men talked shop about the needed repairs. Peter was so consumed in conversation that he hadn’t noticed Harley wander off. His mind was already running through plans A-Z on how he could accomplish the rest of his drive back to New York.

A wrench clanged on the ground off to Peter’s right and both him and Elijah turned toward the sound. “Ah, Duke, glad to see you could join us. Peter, this is Duke Campbell. Been workin’ with me in the shop since he was fifteen.”

Peter’s eyes narrowed as they took in the scene before him. This, _Duke, _was a reasonably attractive man and probably had only about three to four years on Peter. Outwardly, nothing seemed suspect. Mechanic, farmer, cow herder – Peter knew nothing about him. What he did know, however, was that _Duke_ was standing a little too close to an uncomfortable looking Harley. Harley, who was leaning against the wall with tensed up shoulders and a strained smile. His hands fiddled with the part he had picked up for their tractor. Duke must have fetched it for him. Elijah continued speaking to Peter, oblivious of the standoff happening behind him. Possessiveness stirred deep in his chest for his designated tour guide for the weekend. Peter forced his gaze away from the pair, but not before catching sight of the gold ring on Duke’s left hand.

_Interesting._

Elijah threw Peter his keys back (which he caught in midair, thank you very much) so he could collect his belongings from the Volvo before walking off toward, what Peter assumed, was a back office. Duke still spoke in low tones unnervingly close to Harley while looking at him with an expression that read ‘no good.’ Harley’s posture was closed off and Peter started to bristle. The air was boiling inside the garage with nothing but a floor fan as a weak attempt at air conditioning. Peter cracked his neck in irritation and wiped the sweat off his brow before opening his mouth:

“Hey Harley, can you come give me a hand with this?” His voice came out more forceful than he intended. Peter didn’t need help lifting his suitcase, he just wanted Harley away from _Duke._

“Sure, sweetheart.” Harley reached the Volvo’s trunk in a few long strides, looking relieved. He hefted up the suitcase with one hand while the other held the tractor part. Harley easily carried both to the bed of his Ford with Peter on his heels.

Peter lowered his voice as he leaned in close to Harley, almost conspiratorially so, “So what was…that,” he gestured toward the open garage door lamely with his hand, “about?”

Harley rolled his eyes and closed the tailgate with a satisfying slam. “I’ll tell ya when we’re back in the car.”

Peter locked up the Volvo and headed back into the garage to return his keys and tell Elijah thanks. Looking around, he spotted the door the older man had disappeared behind earlier. Peter thought about leaving Harley alone outside, where Duke could swoop in, and his legs picked up his pace. His goal was to make the conversation with Elijah short and sweet.

Practically powerwalking toward the office door, Peter gave it three short knocks. “Uh, Elijah?”

“Come in,” a gruff voice called out from behind the piece of wood.

A strong arctic blast of air conditioning slapped Peter in the face as he entered. Cashing the cold, Peter was tempted to walk further inside the office, but restrained himself and instead lingered in the doorway. “Here’s my keys back,” he threw them toward the older man who caught them with ease. “I just wanted to say thanks again for taking such good care of my car, and for putting a rush order on that part.”

Elijah made an amused noise, low in the back of his throat. “Don’t worry about it son, just doin’ my job.”

Peter gave the man a final, curt nod before backing out of the office and shutting the door behind him, briefly lamenting the loss of air conditioning. Peter turned around and immediately stiffened at the sight before him. Duke had Harley backed against the garage door. One hand was firmly pressed against Duke’s chest to keep him at bay while the other was being sternly shoved into Duke’s face.

Harley was clearly telling Duke off, and Peter still couldn’t believe that the other man had the audacity to be so bold. He understood that him and Harley were practically strangers, but shouldn’t this have been something worth mentioning? If so, why didn’t Harley volunteer someone else to run Peter into town? He ran a hand through his hair and quickly debated his next move to rescue Harley. Striding over to the pair, Peter roughly shoved Duke aside, suddenly very tired of small town USA.

Gently but firmly, Peter grabbed Harley by the wrist and said through clenched teeth, “Come on _sweetheart_, we’re leaving.”

Duke looked taken aback at Peter’s brazenness. Confusion and annoyance flashed across his face, but Peter brushed it aside. The sour taste of disdain still lingered in his mouth for the other man. Peter’s grip on Harley’s wrist tightened ever so slightly as he continued dragging the taller man toward his truck, not bothering to look back. Harley could do nothing more than follow compliantly. They didn’t speak until both men were strapped into the Ford and pulling out of the parking lot of Elijah’s auto shop.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?” Harley wasn’t looking at Peter, but at the open road in front of them. His voice was stern, but a hint of amusement danced across his lips, betraying his angry façade.

“Not particularly, no,” Peter huffed, annoyed at the spectacle he had made of himself. His gut still told him that there was a good reason behind it. “You wanna tell me what _that_ was about?” He turned the spotlight back on Harley, needing the reprieve from his embarrassment.

“Not particularly, no.” Harley parroted Peter’s own words while gripping the steering wheel harder than necessary, knuckles whitening. Peter’s gaze continued to bore into the side of his head. The other man rubbed the back of his neck as the intensity of Peter’s glower started to affect him.

“Why do you wanna know so badly?” He could hear Harley’s resolve crumbling.

“Because I’m nosy,” Peter stated, matter of fact, “and you are definitely not okay,” he added as his voice softened, genuinely concerned for the man sitting next to him.

Harley stayed silent for a few more beats before he sighed, white flag raised. “Alright, I’m gonna tell you but only because you’re not stayin’ in town for much longer.”

Peter tried to ignore the tug at his heartstrings upon hearing Harley’s words. “If he was giving you some kind of shit I could always beat him up for you.” Peter was only half joking. “Like you said, I won’t be in town for long so you could have plausible deniability. Tell them all I’m a psychopath or something.”

Harley laughed, starting to sound a little more like himself, “Naw, I can take care of Duke Campbell.”

“Just sayin’, the offers there.” Peter was rewarded with another throaty laugh. He could listen to that sound all day.

“Duke is gay,” Harley paused to look over at Peter, who was unperturbed by the statement, “but very closeted. It is a small town after all. Anyway, we had a thing a few years back. Didn’t last very long, but Duke won’t let it go.” Harley paused before his voice lowered, “He wasn’t supposed to be workin’ today.”

“I see he’s married now, too.”

A snort left Harley’s lips before he could stop himself, “Married a nice Christian girl last spring. Name’s Avery and she’s only nineteen. Bless her heart for puttin’ up with him for the rest of her life.”

Peter cringed internally. He couldn’t imagine his life if he’d gotten married at twenty. While Harley was done talking, his body language screamed ‘tense’ at Peter. He wanted to let him know that everything was okay, that they were okay, but Peter wasn’t quite sure how.

Thankfully, Peter’s stomach growled loud enough to be heard over the radio. Harley chuckled and, just like that, the awkward spell around them was broken.

“Hey, what’s for dinner?”

\--

Forty minutes later Harley and Peter pulled into the driveway of the Keener’s ranch. The interior of the pick-up smelled heavily of Italian food and Peter had been restraining himself from eating it all in the car. Macy wasn’t making dinner that night, so the boys had stopped for take-out.

“Man, if you like Italian this much you should totally come visit New York. Little Italy has some of the most unparalleled pasta in the country.” Peter was smiling broadly as he talked about his beloved city, “Besides, I need to make this weekend up to you somehow.”

Harley ducked his head to hide a faint blush from Peter. “Naw, I’m a country boy. I don’t think the Big Apple is for me.”

Peter frowned a little as they walked toward the farmhouse. He carried the food in while Harley hauled his suitcase up the front porch steps and into the house. All the lights were off inside, with only a few dimly illuminated hallway decorations to guide their way. Harley walked past Peter and continued up the stairs with his suitcase (Peter was _not_ swooning, okay?).

Upon reaching the kitchen, Peter gently set down the to-go bags down and took in his surroundings. The quiet of the night seemed almost foreign in a house that normally overflowed with life. Even Beauty and Beast were gone. Noisily, Peter made his way around the kitchen to grab plates and silverware from their respective cabinets and drawers. He would have started unpacking the food, but Peter wasn’t sure where Harley wanted to eat.

Peter’s musings were abruptly cut short when the kitchen was flooded with light. Harley had entered and flicked the light switch.

“What’re you doin’ standin’ in the dark, sweetheart?”

“Waiting for you.” Harley looked amused when Peter hurriedly blurted out, “but not in a weird way!”

His grin widened as he grabbed the food from the counter. Peter seized the plates and silverware and proceeded to trail after him toward the family room. Harley’s hand groped around the wall for the light switch.

“Let there be light!” Harley exclaimed while plopping down on the couch with a huff. The bags were set on the coffee table and Harley turned on the flat screen that was mounted to the wall. Peter joined him on the sofa and deposited the plates and silverware in front of them.

“Welcome to my Saturday nights,” Harley said over the loud noise of the TV. The two men started opening to-go containers simultaneously and loading up their plates. Their knees knocked together but neither one moved away. Peter became acutely aware of how alone they were in the house.

“I knew this was a small town, but surely there’s something else to do on a Saturday night.” Peter idly mused out loud, unwilling to get lost in his thoughts. Spaghetti plopped down onto his white plate as he scooped it out of the Styrofoam container with his fork. Harley licked his fingers after consuming a piece of garlic bread in one bite. Peter was so distracted by the movement that he almost didn't hear Harley when he spoke:

“Well, there’s a bar.”

Harley wasn’t wrong. There was, indeed, one singular bar in Rose Hill. It was called the 865 Saloon and they had live music on Saturday nights. _Cool._ After their Italian takeout and shitty Netflix was over, the two men disposed of their mess in the kitchen. Since Harley was a good Southern boy, the pair had to make sure that the kitchen was spotless, and all their dishes put away before they could head upstairs to get ready.

While Harley was changing, Peter stared blankly at his suitcase. He was at a complete loss for what to wear. The weather had done a 180 from earlier in the afternoon. Gone was the humidity and sunshine, replaced by the chill of night. Peter knew his white t-shirt probably wouldn’t suffice for the evening, but the clothes in his suitcase were fit for exclusively summer. He wandered out into the hallway toward Harley’s open door.

“Hey Harley…” Peter stopped to lean against the doorway. His sentence trailed off and a circuit in his brain momentarily shorted while he (subtly) raked his eyes up and down the other man. Peter watched as Harley rolled up the sleeves of his maroon button down. Country boy was never an aesthetic Peter thought to be attractive, but on Harley Keener he was sorely mistaken.

“Yeah?”

He looked at Peter expectantly. Peter ran nervous hand through his curls while his eyes flitted around the other man’s room for the first time. “Uh, I didn’t pack a jacket for my trip. Or anything with sleeves, actually. Do you, uh, have something I can borrow?”

“I think I have somethin’ that’ll work.”

Harley moved around his room with ease while Peter took in the rest of his appearance. His shirt was tucked into dark wash jeans that (once again) hung low on his hips, despite the best efforts of Harley’s belt. Black boots clacked around on the wooden floor as Harley walked toward his closet.

“Here.” A plaid blur was tossed in Peter’s direction.

Peter caught the garment with ease and held it up for proper examination. It was a classic, buffalo plaid flannel. His nose wrinkled in mild displeasure, but he still threw it on over his t-shirt. Peter noticed the mirror on the back of Harley’s bedroom door and used it to examine his reflection. He scrutinized the button-up, deciding in the end to leave the flannel open and his t-shirt exposed. When Peter’s eyes roamed to his unruly tresses, he frowned. Should’ve at least tried to gel them back.

He met Harley’s eye in the mirror and the other man smiled, as if reading his mind. “Don’t worry darlin’, your hair looks fine. ‘Sides, I kind of like the curls.” He winked while Peter rolled his eyes.

Harley walked toward his closet once again and dug around for something. He pulled out a black cowboy hat and mockingly gestured for Peter to take it.

“Sorry, but no _fucking _way,” Peter said as nicely as possible. Sharp laughter from the other man was the response.

“Not bad, city boy.” Harley clapped Peter on the back and opened his bedroom door, heading toward the bathroom.

The 865 Saloon was a gritty looking, all brick corner bar on Rose Hill’s main street. It was only 8:20 pm when the Keener’s Ford pulled in, but the parking lot was already eighty-percent full.

“Wow, looks like the entire town of Rose Hill is here,” Peter said sarcastically as they exited Harley’s Ford.

“You’re probably not wrong,” his tone was serious, “Mason-Dixon Line performin’ tonight is a big deal for folks ‘round here.”

Peter scoffed. _Mason-Dixon Line_? He was skeptical, but Peter wouldn’t lie; he was also a little intrigued to hear the band play. As the pair got closer to the bar Peter gestured to the neon sign hanging above the front door. “What’s the significance of 865?”

“Rose Hill’s area code,” Harley said while opening the door for him.

Peter walked into the bar and was immediately hit by the overbearing notes of country music and the faint smell of beer. He would wager that the ever-present aroma had seeped into the walls by now. The interior of the bar was all wood: wooden floors, wooden counter tops, wooden furniture, wooden paneling on the walls and a wooden stage in the corner, where Mason-Dixon Line would perform later. Aside from a few ancient lighting fixtures, fairy lights affixed to the wooden rafters provided a majority of the soft, yellow lighting.

While Peter was busy taking it all in Harley found them two seats at the bar, relatively close to the stage. The shriek of metal barstools moving on wooden floors was more than familiar to Peter as he settled in next to Harley. The older men surrounding the two, however, were not. Men as old as his grandfather lined the bar top, a foreign sight back in New York where bars were for the under 35 crowd.

“Harley, welcome back!” A very tall, burly bartender tipped his hat toward the pair. “How’s yer Momma doin’?”

Harley returned the gesture. “Fine as a fiddle. What about you? How’s the wife?”

Travis sighed and pushed up the sleeves of his Henley, “Pregnant again.”

A low whistle sounded off to Peter’s right. “What’s that, number four now?”

“Five,” Travis looked a tad regretful. He wiped his hands on his tan apron and put on a business face. “Good ta see you in here, kid. The usual?”

“The usual.” Harley grinned and spun in his chair to survey the room. “Well, Peter, you weren’t wrong. Half the town is definitely here.”

He started pointing out the citizens of Rose Hill in kind. It distracted Peter from how out of place he felt, and for that he was thankful. It was also nice to finally put a face to Beau the Mayor, a wrinkly old son of a bitch, and Kennedy Kline, the mostly plastic heiress that Harley’s mom disliked so much. The chief of police was also in attendance (“He’s makin’ sure ain’t nobody misbehavin’,” Harley said, but Peter highly doubted it considering the beer in the chief’s hand).

The clink of glass on wood made both men jump a little in their seats, wrapped up in their own world. They turned back around to face the bar, knees banging together in the process. Travis set down a glass filled with amber liquid front of Harley.

“Want anythin’, son?” His gaze was trained on Peter.

“Uh, do you have any Saison on tap?”

“You new in town?” Travis caught him off guard with such a direct question. He squinted his eyes while scrutinizing Peter.

A laugh bubbled over Peter’s lips before he could stop himself. “Naw, just passin’ through.” The vowels slid together in an unnaturally comfortable way. He shifted in his seat.

“Well, if you’re not stickin’ around, I suggest Blackberry Farm’s Saison then. Tennessee classic and you can’t leave without tryin’ it.”

Peter nodded his head in affirmation and Travis left to pour his beer. The sound of a banjo slowly infiltrated Peter's ears and his head swiveled around.

"Aw, looks like Mason-Dixon Line is doing their sound check." Harley’s gaze was trained toward the stage.

The bar chatter increased as three men walked on to the mid-sized wooden stage. They looked about college aged and, for a supposed country band, were dressed pretty Northern, in Peter's opinion. The man standing at the forefront was armed with a banjo and oozed ‘front man’ vibes. He was flanked by a drummer and bass guitarist. Peter’s appraisal of the band was broken by Travis setting beer down in front of him. Peter took a tentative sip; it was perfect.

Harley took a swig of his beer and eyed Peter beside him. Peter was oblivious to Harley's glances, too busy eyeing up the band. He wasn't staring at them_ per se_, more like contemplating some things while the band just happened to be in Peter's line of sight.

"See something you like?" Harley's tone was teasing and pitched low so only Peter could hear. It caught him off guard. Harley must have thought Peter was eye fucking the band this entire time.

_Interesting._

"Um…"

"I'd probably pick the bassist," Harley cut in before taking another swig from his glass. He leaned backward in the stool, back resting against the edge of the bar top. His nonchalance was akin to two guys talking about the weather.

Peter took a moment to give the band a proper once over. The bassist was attractive in a generic way: brown eyes and curly, golden locks. Peter could appreciate how well fitted the musician's black jeans were though. A patterned, short sleeve button up was tucked into his jeans and the top three buttons were undone. _Very nice_.

"I'd probably go with the drummer, if I had to pick." Brunette with blue eyes? More than fine with Peter. The drummer also had on a maroon beanie, despite it being the dog days of summer. Peter pushed a few stray curls from his face. Their vibe definitely screamed ‘indie-rock’ rather than country.

“Tell ya the truth, I’d probably take them all.” Harley stated matter-of-fact.

Peter nearly choked on his next sip of beer.

The lead singer of Mason-Dixon Line started speaking into the microphone and the townsfolk were cheering, but Peter wasn't paying attention to the words. He turned back around in his barstool and slammed his glass down, leaning over the wooden counter to flag down the lumberjack of a bartender.

"Another, please." If Peter’s voice came out a little too strained and a little too desperate, no one else but Travis heard inside the crowded bar.

"Saison still?" Travis looked a tad impressed that Peter had finished the sixteen ounce already.

"No, something stronger that’s not an IPA."

Harley raised an eyebrow at him, still nursing his first beer. "You lookin' to set a record, sugar?"

“Nope, just got a feeling I’ll need it tonight.”

Peter was trying and failing quite spectacularly at looking anywhere but Harley’s lips as he sipped and sipped from his beer, Adam’s apple bobbing away. He blinked stupidly. Maybe the first beer was finally kicking in.

Travis came back not too long after with an empty glass and open beer can in hand. “Moon Dust. Imperial Stout outta Columbus.” Peter nodded wordless thanks and emptied the contents of the can into his glass.

After a few sips, Peter excused himself to the bathroom. When he came back, Mason Dixon Line was preparing to start their set and a small crowd had gathered to stand around the stage. The opening chords were struck on the banjo and a part of Peter’s soul died. A look of disdain crossed his face before he took several more gulps from his glass. How was this his life now?

Harley, previously enamored with the band, now turned to watch Peter instead. “What, don’t you like ‘em?”

Peter grimaced. “They’re not bad but there’s enough twang in there to supply the entire state of Tennessee. The guy has a fucking _banjo _for Christ’s sake.” His eyes slid over the stage once more. “_Two_ banjos, actually.” One was propped up on a rack of guitars behind the band.

Harley threw his head back in laughter. “Darlin’, you’re the one who dragged my ass here for a night out.” He shook his head while finishing off his drink in a few gulps. Then, an arm was lazily thrown around Peter as he was pulled a little closer. Peter stiffened. The proximity was close enough for him to smell whatever cologne Harley must have dabbed on before they left.

“You smell really nice."

Peter hadn’t meant to say it out loud and a hand came up to cover his mouth. _Yup_, he was definitely starting to feel the liquor_. _Peter touched a hand to his cheek, feeling the alcohol flush that lingered there. He knew it probably shouldn’t, but the urge was to strong. Peter couldn’t resist the temptation of turning his head into the crook of Harley’s neck and inhaling deeply.

Harley stiffened in response but didn’t pull away. “Travis, canna git another?” He leaned over the counter to shout at the bartender over the sound of heavy bass and drums.

The arm on Peter’s shoulder slid down ever so slightly. Harley’s left hand now rested on Peter’s shoulder, hand print burning into his skin like a brand through two layers of clothing. Peter felt his face redden impossibly further and he couldn’t tell if the alcohol or Harley’s touch was the culprit.

The band was in the middle of a faster song now and the floors shook, between the bass guitar vibrating the speakers and the crowd attempting to make the small dance floor into a mosh pit. Harley’s leg was bouncing to the beat and knocked into Peter’s thigh with every upbeat of the music. If this were New York, now would be the part of the evening when Peter would ask Harley to dance. Then, he’d find out soon enough if Harley wanted to go home with him or stay just friends.

Regrettably, this wasn’t New York, so Peter stayed rooted in his seat as Travis brought over Harley’s second beer and a glass of water. Mason-Dixon Line was transitioning into cover songs since they weren’t big enough to rely solely on originals. It sounded to Peter like they were attempting the R3hab remix of Tequila by Dan + Shay. He cringed a lot.

But, speaking of tequila, “Hey, do they do shots here?” Peter yelled into Harley’s ear over the music.

Harley braced his left arm on the back of Peter’s stool so he could lean in close to speak directly into Peter’s ear, breath tickling the side of his face, “Yeah, lemme get you some good ol’ fashioned Tennessee whiskey.”

Even oven the music and the crowd, Peter still heard every syllable of Harley’s Southern drawl. A flush ran the length of his body, head to toe, and he knocked back the rest of his beer. Peter wasn’t inebriated enough to be sitting in a bar this close to Harley Keener. Harley gestured to Travis once more and the music drowned out whatever he told the bartender. Peter vaguely wondered how high up he was running his tab, but quickly pushed away the thought. More than enough drinks had been earned as compensation for the weekend Peter was having so far.

Travis returned with a double shot glass full of dark brown whiskey and placed it in front of Peter. The burly man gave him a little side-eye, but Harley waved the bartender off. Peter couldn’t blame him; he could hardly believe that a double shot glass was in front of him either. The band transitioned into a Florida Georgia Line song and Peter didn’t hesitate throwing back the shot.

Up until now Peter had felt relatively fine, they walked into the bar on full stomachs after all, but as the whiskey burned a path down his esophagus Peter started to reconsider his life choices. The motion of tilting his head back sent the bar spinning and he to gripped onto Harley’s arm to steady himself.

Harley leaned in close again to speak directly into Peter’s ear, serious expression on his face. “Peter, are you okay?”

“M’fine.” Peter waved him off. His dizzy spell ended in Peter heavily leaning against Harley’s side. A waft of the man’s cologne filled his lungs again and Peter giggled a little. “Toooootally fine.”

He righted himself and sprawled across the wooden bar top instead of on Harley. Sure, Peter’s words might have been a little slurred, but he was fine, goddamn it. He had just spent the last three weeks drinking semi-regularly in New Orleans with MJ, Ned and Betty while on vacation. Peter should have the tolerance of a champion.

Harley chuckled and finished off his second beer, “Yeah, you mentioned that last night at dinner.” Harley’s knuckles brushed against Peter’s when he pushed the empty glass out of the way.

Peter sat up straight. He didn’t even realize he had verbalized his thoughts. _Oops._ His gaze honed in on Harley’s second completed beer. “Aren’t you supposed to be driving us home?”

“Peter, who’m I gonna hit when it’s a one-way road from here back to the ranch?” He was laughing in earnest now.

Peter pouted from beside Harley and propped up his head in his hands, elbows resting on the wooden bar. “Doesn’t Southern hospitality forbid you from making fun of me?”

“Aw, darlin’ don’t take it to heart. I’m just pickin’.” Harley rested his hand on Peter’s back and started gently rubbing his thumb in circles. It was supposed to be a comforting gesture, however coming from Harley felt anything but.

Peter closed his eyes and leaned into the touch. Peter must have continued leaning though, because shortly after he was pressed into Harley’s side again. The light pressure on Peter’s waist made him realize that Harley’s arm had drifted down at some point. He looked up at the other man with half lidded eyes, but Harley was turned away trying to flag down the bartender. His side profile was starkly outlined against the soft glow of the string lights. Peter watched Harley’s lips as he spoke to Travis, transfixed. He wondered what they’d feel like pressed against his own.

_Holy shit_, Peter jerked back. He was properly shitfaced.

Mason-Dixon Line was now doing a cover of “Tennessee Whiskey.” The lyrics struck a little too close to home for Peter and his stomach flip-flopped (though, it could have been the alcohol too). With each line of the song all Peter could think of was the Tennessee boy sitting next to him. He needed to leave this tavern before he embarrassed himself further.

As if on cue, Travis made his way over to the pair and knowingly slid the check toward Harley before walking to the other side of the bar. Travis flashed one last pitying look in Peter’s direction before walking away. Peter tried to sit up in an effort to preserve what remained of his dignity, but it only served to bring on another bout of vertigo. He made a grab for the check but Harley easily warded off his attempt.

“Now, Peter, Momma raised me better than that. I know how to treat my guests,” Harley slid his card into the check folder before turning toward him with a wink, “especially the pretty ones.”

Peter gaped at Harley while Travis came back to take Harley's credit card. “I think I need another drink…” Peter murmured while scrubbing a hand over his face.

“I think ya drank ya fill, sweetheart.” Harley was teasing him again and Peter pouted in response.

Travis returned Harley’s card and the man smoothly slipped it back into his wallet. He then slid said wallet into the back pocket of his jeans as Peter’s eyes followed the motion a little too eagerly.

“Alright, sugar, time to get ya home.” Harley slid off his barstool first with ease, all traces of alcohol gone from his movements.

Peter stood up after him and slipped off the metal stool. To his credit, he only stumbled a little, but Harley was right there to catch him. An arm slid back around Peter’s waist to steady him. If Peter exaggerated how heavily he needed to lean into Harley, it was between him and God now.

Harley threw an apologetic glance toward Travis, who yelled after them over the music, “Give my best to yer momma!”

“Will do!” Harley shouted back over his shoulder. Peter flinched a little at the loudness so close to his sensitive ears.

The two made their way out of the bar while Mason-Dixon Line continued playing their set behind them. Once they stumbled into the cool night air Peter inhaled deeply. The country air cleansed his airways from the scent of alcohol and sweat.

“Only you could get this drunk by ten pm.” Harley shook his head, but a fond smile was on his face.

Peter sloppily pulled his phone from his back pocket and squinted down at the screen. It was only 10:10. He groaned. “I swear, m’not normally this bad.”

“S’okay, Rose Hill has that effect on people.”

They were at Harley’s truck now. He unlocked it and held the passenger door open for Peter, who clambered inside. Peter might have narrowly avoided kicking Harley in the face, but it wasn’t his fault the Ford sat five-hundred feet off the ground. Once Peter was safely inside, Harley closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

The engine roared to life as Harley turned the key in the ignition. “Well, least Momma’ll be happy we’re back early.”

\--

Harley’s truck pulled into the driveway twenty-five minutes later. Peter noticed that the lights were on downstairs; the rest of the Keener’s must be home and awake. He suddenly sat ram-rod straight in the car seat.

“Harley, you can’t let your family see me like this.” Peter had sobered up a little during the drive home, but he still felt miles away from fine.

“We’ll just go in the front then. Closer to the stairs.”

Harley unbuckled his seat belt and exited the Ford. Peter followed suit and almost face-planted on the gravel driveway. Great. An arm slid around his waist once again as Harley came to his aid. Together, they cleared the short distance from the truck to the porch with relative ease. Harley’s keys jingled furiously as he fumbled for a moment in the dark before locating the right one. The key turned in the door and Harley slowly pushed it open.

They tried to be quiet upon entering the house, but the wooden floorboards gave away their presence with each creak and groan. Harley flinched as the front door screeched shut and brought them face to face with Macy and Abi. They were sitting in the living room watching TV, both pairs of eyes trained on the two men. Harley’s grip on Peter’s waist slipped away.

“Hey there, fellahs.” Macy had an amused smile on her face as she took in the sight of a rumpled Harley and clearly inebriated Peter, who was still wearing Harley’s borrowed flannel.

Harley greeted his mother and sister while Peter feebly waved, blushing furiously and unable to meet their gaze. Peter was now thankful for the few stray curls that helped shield his eyes from the two. After a brief exchange of words, Harley grabbed Peter’s wrist and gently tugged him upstairs. The vertigo was gone, but now Peter’s eyelids felt like they weighed a ton. He stumbled toward the guest room with Harley close behind, making sure Peter was okay.

Peter turned in the doorway of the guest room to face Harley, nearly colliding with the other man who wasn’t expecting Peter to stop walking. “You called me pretty.”

“What?” Confusion was evident on Harley’s face.

It was probably the alcohol speaking, but Peter soldiered on, “Today, tonight, yesterday, you always call me pretty.”

“Because you are darlin’. Pretty as a peach.” Harley was staring down at the inebriated man in front of him with a look too adoring for friendship.

Peter beamed before turning without a word to enter his room, flicking on the lights as he went. He was intent on changing into pajamas as quickly as possible so he could go to sleep. When Peter started unbuttoning his jeans, he temporarily forgot about his audience until the slamming of the bedroom door alerted Peter that Harley left the room. _Oops._

The slim fit jeans were presenting a problem and now Peter lamented wearing them. He was forced to sit down on the bed in order to clumsily wriggle out of them. Once the offending garment was off, Peter found his sweatpants and pulled them on. He laid back onto the bed with a huff, not even under the covers and content to fall asleep just like this. Peter rolled onto his side and curled into a ball, inhaling deeply.

Suddenly, he bolted upright. The alcohol induced haze cleared for a moment and Peter remembered that he never gave Harley his flannel back. Peter swung his feet over the side of the queen bed and staggered a little before making it to the bedroom door, wrenching it open. Harley’s door was ajar across the hall so he wandered over, not bothering to knock.

Peter was a little disappointed to find the room empty. Harley must have been in the bathroom. Peter sat down on the edge of the queen-sized bed, the only furniture in the large room, and decided that he would wait for him. Peter had to apologize for his behavior anyway, offer to pay him back for the booze and thank Harley for taking him out tonight.

Yeah, Peter could wait for Harley.

After getting ready for bed, Harley turned off the bathroom lights and made his way back to his room. He noticed that the light in Peter’s bedroom was on and his door was open. Concerned, Harley crossed the hallway in a few long strides. Peeking inside, he saw the room was empty. Peter’s jeans were on the floor though, which meant he had successfully changed for bed. A conscious effort was made on Harley’s part to not think about Peter attempting to strip in front of him. He wandered back into the hallway.

_Where was he_?

Harley was sure he’d have heard the creaking of the stairs if Peter went downstairs for something. Confused, he made his way back to his bedroom. Harley stopped dead in his tracks upon stepping through the doorway.

Peter was sleeping on his bed.

More accurately, Peter was asleep on Harley’s side of the bed _in _Harley’s bed. His legs were hanging off of the edge like he had sat down to wait and just…fell over fast asleep. Harley chuckled softly at the sight. Peter was clad in sweatpants and Harley’s buffalo plaid shirt; the curls he’d come to love spread out like a halo around Peter’s head. He debated waking the man, but in the end decided against it.

Harley sighed and gently lifted Peter’s legs to maneuver him properly onto the bed. He threw his own pillow onto the other side of the bed and grabbed a spare, propping it underneath Peter. After a few seconds spent quietly rummaging around the closet, Harley found an extra blanket and draped it over Peter’s sleeping form.

Once the blanket was in place, Harley turned off the bedside lamp and stood in darkness, contemplating his next move. He could sleep in the spare room that Peter was currently using, the couch downstairs or on the other side of his own bed. Harley briefly wondered how weird the latter option would be.

After mulling it over in the shadows, Harley decided that he would sleep on the couch like the Southern gentleman his Momma raised him to be – no matter how much he didn’t want to leave the sleeping boy in his bed. Harley turned to exit his bedroom when Peter’s hand shot up from under the blanket and encircled his wrist like a vice. He whipped around and stared down at his appendage; specifically, Peter’s grip on said appendage.

“Don’t leave,” Peter mumbled, caught in a state somewhere between awake and dreaming.

Harley gently tugged his wrist in an effort to free himself, but Peter pulled back harder and caught him by surprise. One more swift jerk as Peter rolled over onto his side ensured that Harley followed him down. It was a little awkward at first, with Harley seventy-five percent on the bed and twenty-five off, but after some adjusting, he was properly on the mattress. Peter settled in around him and fell back asleep, dashing any thoughts Harley had of sleeping elsewhere.

Besides, Harley couldn’t wake Peter, right? That would be awfully rude of him.

Harley subtly adjusted himself to get comfortable beneath the other man. Peter’s head was tucked into the crook of Harley’s neck while one arm hugged his torso and their legs tangled together. His curls ticked Harley’s neck and he found the sensation alarmingly enjoyable. Harley tried not to think about how _right_ everything felt in this moment and closed his eyes, drifting off soon after Peter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like the story so far? Consider leaving a comment, kudos or bookmark.
> 
> Thanks guys!
> 
> @Spooky-Parker on Tumblr


	3. Sunday

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big thanks to all the readers who have stuck around this long! Really, I appreciate all the kind comments :D

Peter woke up to the sensation of something wet and rough repeatedly tickling his cheek. He scrunched up his nose and pushed away at the invading feeling before rolling over in bed. Nestling back into the blankets, Peter covered his nose with the comforter, content to let sleep take him once again. Just as he started to nod off again, a heavy weight landed on top of him. Peter’s eyes flew open as he let out a rush of air. He was met with the sight of Beauty sprawled on top of him in bed and groaned audibly.

The world spun when Peter groggily sat up; every movement he made felt like being hit by an eighteen-wheeler. His head was pounding, and his body ached. Peter squinted to see past the bright sunlight streaming in through the open windows. One hand rubbed the sleep from his eyes while the other idly scratched Beauty behind the ears. Better a dog than a rooster to wake up to.

“Morning, girl.” Peter’s voice was still rough with sleep.

While he waited with closed eyes for the dizziness to pass, Peter’s brain attempted to fill in the gaps from the night before. The distinct memory of too much alcohol came into focus with perfect clarity, but not a lot else. A yawn escaped him, and his eyes watered from the ferocity of it. Peter ran a hand over his face while he surveyed the bedroom, promptly freezing mid-yawn.

This wasn’t the guest room.

Peter slowly turned his head to look at the other side of the bed, afraid of what he might find. When faced with the sight of an empty, still made duvet, he let out an enormous sigh of relief. However, mixed in with Peter’s relief was a small tinge of disappointment. The dull ache threatening to creep up his chest was shoved away.

Nudging Beauty off the bed, Peter threw back the heavy blanket and found he was dressed in his sweatpants and Harley’s flannel from last night. He had no recollection of how he had gotten here. Peter hauled himself up off the bed and started folding the blanket while Beauty trotted out of Harley’s bedroom. The now folded wool was tossed to the end of the bed and Peter haphazardly rearranged the pillows, trying to make it look as presentable as possible

Knuckles rapped on wood and Peter jumped a foot in the air at the noise, breaking his concentration on the task at hand. He whipped around and saw Harley leaning in the doorway, already dressed for the day in jeans and a loose fitting, black t–shirt.

Peter clutched his chest and exhaled shakily, “Jesus, you scared me.”

“Sorry, darlin’. Just wanted to make sure you’re awake ‘cause you’re gonna learn how to ride a horse today.” Harley had on a lopsided smile and a mischievous glint in his eye that Peter didn’t like.

“Are you – are you serious?” Peter gaped at Harley like a fish out of water. The room was still spinning from turning around so quickly. He closed his eyes and pressed two fingers against his temple.

“Yup! Coffee and breakfast are downstairs whenever you’re done preenin’.”

“Wha — I do not preen,” Peter huffed while Harley just winked in response.

He sat back down on Harley’s bed and listened as the other man’s boots thundered down the stairs. After taking a moment to calm the vertigo, Peter slowly stood and crossed the hall to his room. He found his iPhone abandoned on the nightstand from the night before and plugged it into the wall charger. The fluorescent glow of his lock screen told Peter that it was only 8:12 am. He ran a hand through unruly curls in exasperation and rubbed his eyes, attempting once more to shake off the haze of sleep.

Debating his next course of action, Peter grabbed some clean clothes out of his suitcase and made his way toward the bathroom for a shower. He felt as disgusting as he probably looked.

After yesterday, Peter had officially made peace with never being able to tame his curls in the Southern heat. It was oddly liberating to ditch the hair gel, and it saved him an extra fifteen minutes in his post-shower routine. After one final appearance check, Peter made his way downstairs. The wafting scent of coffee greeted him with open arms. Since setting foot in Rose Hill, Peter hadn’t had a decent cup of it. He filled his lungs with the scent and relished in the smell as the stairs creaked underneath him, announcing his presence to other inhabitants of the house. Peter spotted Abi sitting at the table upon entering the kitchen. Covertly, he scanned the rest of the area and found no one else in sight.

“Have a good time last night?” Abi sipped her coffee innocently, but her smirk was knowing.

Peter’s cheeks turned pink as embarrassment set in. He quickly turned away from Abi to hide his blush, opening the cabinet closest to the refrigerator to pull down a mug. Damp curls were brushed aside as Peter poured the coffee, back still to Abi. “I am so sorry you had to see me like that. I promise that was…out of character.” He put the pot back in its place. Peter added a dash of milk and sugar to his drink for good measure before joining her at the kitchen table.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it. You shoulda seen Harley back when he was in high school. He would be gone for hours on the weekends and come home drunk as Cooter Brown. Momma had to pull out the switch a couple times. No matter what she did though, he wouldn’t stop runnin’ with them Baker boys.”

“Who are the Baker boys?” Peter was intrigued to hear more about Harley’s mischievous childhood. It was hard to picture the Harley he knew as a troublemaker back in the day. Leaning forward on his elbows intently, Abi had his full attention as she launched into an explanation.

“Tommy and his older brother, Sawyer. Harley and them were thick as thieves. They’d raid their daddy’s liquor cabinet and get up to no good.”

Peter laughed as he sipped his coffee. “Wow, are we talking about the same Harley? Your brother is so...” _perfect_, he thought, “gentleman-like,” is what he said instead.

Abi shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t too long after daddy left that the trouble started.” She said it nonchalantly, but Peter could tell it was a sore subject.

“Wow, I’m, uh, sorry that happened to you guys.”

She quickly changed the topic, “Anyway, the Claiborne’s next door brought over some homemade sticky buns this mornin’ so Momma set ‘em out for breakfast. There’s fresh berries too,” Abi gestured toward the food lying on the island, “help yourself.”

“Cool, thanks for letting me know.”

Peter got up and made his way toward the island, making a B-line for the pastries. God bless the Claiborne's. Peter loaded up his plate with a pile of fruit and two sticky buns, grabbed a few napkins from the counter and rejoined Abi at the kitchen table. She pushed a small bowl of sugar toward him as he took another sip of his coffee.

“Sugar is for berries, not grits.”

Peter snorted through his mouthful of coffee while Abi sniggered. He obliged, sprinkling a little bit of sugar over his berries while he cleaned up droplets of coffee. They continued their breakfasts in a comfortable silence.

“Peter, what size shoe are you?” Harley poked his head into the kitchen. Peter was visibly spooked at the other man’s unexpected drop-in.

“Uh, 11. Why?” He turned around in his chair to shoot Harley a quizzical expression. Harley’s response was to pivot and walk away.

“He’s fixin’ to get you on a horse. Been at preparations all mornin’.” Abi shook her head and downed the rest of her coffee.

“What! He was serious about that?” Peter looked to Abi for answers, but she just gave him another knowing smile before walking to the sink to rinse off her dishes. After loading them into the dishwasher, she promptly exited the room.

“Abi, wait!” Peter called down the hallway after her retreating figure.

It wasn’t until Peter found himself standing in the middle of a wooden round pen, clad in a pair of Harley’s old, brown leather cowboy boots, that he realized why Harley had wanted his shoe size. Beside Harley stood a bay colored quarter horse named Elvis. Peter eyed the stallion wearily.

‘Adventurous’ was always a word that could be used to describe Peter Parker. Hell, back in New York he was considered the most open-minded out of his entire friend group. He could do octopus salad, skydiving and free climbing in Yosemite, no sweat. Ride a horse though? Definitely not at the top of Peter’s bucket list. The first time he did it was out of necessity, the second would be by choice.

It was yet again another day of pure sunshine, practically unhindered by a sparse covering of clouds, but the temperature cooled down drastically from the day before. A nice breeze was blowing in from the west and continually tousled Peter’s curls. Coupled with the earliness of the morning, he was plenty comfortable in a t-shirt and jeans. Still, the thought of riding a horse again made Peter break out in a nervous sweat.

“Um, I don’t know about this Harley. I could fall outta the saddle, or Elvis could hate me, or I’ll give him the wrong command and then he’ll freak out and throw me to the ground like in the movies and then I’ll break something and end up stuck here even longer…”

Harley cut off Peter's babbling with the wave of a hand. “Whoa, Nelly! Don’t worry sweetheart, I gotcha. Nothing bad is gonna happen to you or Elvis.” The smile he gave Peter was so warm that Peter swore he could feel it in his bones. _Damn Southern charm_. “Elvis here is, what we like to call, a ‘dead broke’ horse. He couldn’t care less what you do on top of him. Nothin’ to be afraid of.”

Peter hesitantly stepped closer to man and beast. Harley was holding the lunge line and gesturing encouragingly to Peter.

“Okay, getting’ up on Elvis here is gonna be the hardest part.”

Harley led Peter by the hand to Elvis’ left side. He came up behind Peter, and their proximity made him suddenly regret stepping outside of the farmhouse this morning. Harley was too close for comfort and fragmented memories of the night before flashed through his mind. Peter opened his mouth to ask about the night in question, but was preoccupied by Harley picking up his arms and resting his hands on Elvis’ saddle.

“What you wanna do is put your left foot in the stirrup, boost yourself up like this and put your weight on yer left foot.” Harley patted Peter’s left thigh for emphasis. His hand was a little higher up than necessary due to their height difference and Peter’s mouth went dry. “At the same time, swing your right leg over the saddle.” When Harley touched his right thigh, Peter thought he might pass out, already light-headed from holding his breath for so long.

Harley stepped back to give him some space while Peter sent a Hail Mary skyward. He took a deep breath and attempted to mount Elvis. When Peter put his foot into the stirrup, the world went silent. It was just Peter and the horse. He tested the waters before letting the stirrup fully bear his weight, propelling himself up and swinging his right leg over the saddle in one fluid motion. Peter found himself sitting triumphantly on Elvis’ saddle and knew he had nailed it on the first try.

He let out a long, shaky exhale and grinned down at Harley. “That wasn’t horrible.”

“Perfect, city boy. Now that you're on, that was the hardest part.”

Peter was properly sweating in his t-shirt from nerves and adrenaline. Fingers idly ran through tangled tresses. He highly doubted Harley’s statement, but it did make Peter feel a little better.

Harley maneuvered the lunge line into his other hand while he continued talking. It gave Peter some time to adjust to sitting in Elvis’ saddle. “Now, there are four different gaits for a horse: walk, trot, canter and gallop. Since yer just startin’, I reckon we only try a walk and trot today.”

Peter nodded wordlessly, taking in all that Harley was saying.

“Hardest part for most folk is the posture. Main thing to remember is to sit up straight and lean backward, not forward.”

Harley looked up at Peter as he moved to readjust his posture. He nodded down to the man on the ground, “Alrighty, I think I’m ready.”

“Whenever you’re set, give Elvis here a gentle squeeze with your legs to go, and pull back slowly on the reins if you wanna stop.”

Peter set his jaw, determined to see this through now that he’d made it this far. He used his thighs to gently squeeze Elvis’ midsection and hoped for the best. Elvis immediately started walking and it jarred Peter forward a little in the saddle.

“Holy shit! It worked!” Peter smiled victoriously from atop the horse while Harley walked beside them, rope in hand.

After doing a full lap around the round pen Harley spoke again, “Open up the left rein to go left, same thing for right.” He demonstrated for Peter using the lunge line.

“Left for left, right for right. Cool. Easy.” Peter nervously opened up the rein and grinned in delight when Elvis followed his command.

“Alrighty, pull on his reins to stop ‘em real quick. Gentle, now.”

Peter did as instructed and pulled back slowly on Elvis’ reins. He was so engrossed in riding the horse that he didn’t notice Harley approaching until warm fingers spread out on his lower back. Peter jolted in response to the touch and Elvis moved to go under him, but Harley controlled the horse with ease using the lunge line.

“Now, I’m noticin’ you sittin’ real stiff. If you don’t loosen up you’re gonna be awfully sore in the mornin’. Especially after we teach ya how to trot. We have a sayin’ in the horse world: shoulders like a queen and hips like a whore.”

Peter gaped at Harley and tried his hardest to suppress the flush creeping its way up his neck. It didn’t help matters that Harley still hadn’t removed his hand from Peter’s lower back.

“S’better to move your hips with the motion of the horse. Don’t overdo it though; keep it very subtle. It’ll save your thighs and back the heartache tomorrow.”

It was hard for Peter to keep anything subtle when Harley was trailing his fingers down his thigh to emphasize exactly where his ailments would be in the morning. He bit down on his bottom lip and forced his brain to focus on the horse in front of him rather than the man beside him. Peter was one wrong step away from inescapable embarrassment.

“You alright up there, sugar?”

_Fuck_

“Yeah,” Peter’s voice came out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat and started again, “Yeah, perfectly fine. Just…taking in everything you’re saying.”

Harley looked at him oddly before moving on. They took three more laps around the pen in relative silence. Peter found the feeling of riding to be exceptionally relaxing, surprisingly.

“Alright Peter,” Harley said at the end of the third lap, “I think you’re ready to move up to a trot. Now, for this all you gotta do is give Elvis a firm squeeze of your calves and cluck with your tongue against yer teeth to get him to go a bit faster.” Harley demonstrated for him.

“Calves, tongue, got it.” A look of concentration crossed Peter’s face as he gently squeezed Elvis with his calves and clicked his tongue.

Elvis sprang into action and Peter laughed from the saddle. He grinned at Harley from where he stood closer to the center of the pen, lunge line in hand. “Okay, I can definitely see the appeal of horseback riding.”

Peter and Elvis took a few more laps around, alternating between walking and trotting, before Harley decided it was time to call it a day. He was concerned that Peter would be too sore in the morning and Peter didn’t blame him. Harley stopped horse and rider by the pen entrance and verbally walked Peter through dismounting. As Peter swung his leg back over Elvis, he faltered a little, unsure how high off the ground his leg was.

“Here, lemme help you.”

The sudden feeling of two hands on his waist alerted Peter that Harley was behind him again. More memories flashed in Peter’s brain of the night before as Harley gripped his waist tighter to help him down and out of the stirrups. Peter put some distance between the two while he cracked his joints and shook out his limbs. Harley was right, he had been too tense when riding and would probably regret it in the morning.

“Hey, I forgot to ask, what happened last night? I vaguely remember leaving the bar but not much after that…” Peter trailed off sheepishly as he turned to face Harley. He was still embarrassed by majority of last night, even if he couldn’t recall it all.

Harley looked down at his boots while he fiddled with the lunge line in his hands. Peter prepared himself for the worst. _Oh God, please don’t tell him he tried to make a move._ The last thing Peter wanted was to make Harley feel uncomfortable around him or put him in a weird situation when he was already their houseguest.

“Uh, I just helped you home after the bar. We ran into Momma and Abi downstairs and then you went to get ready for bed. Must’ve come into my room when I went to the bathroom and fell asleep.”

Peter exhaled in relief. He tried and failed to wrack his brain for the memory. Something important had happened, he could feel it in his gut, Peter just didn’t know what. “Wow, um, I’m really sorry I hijacked your bed last night. Where did you end up sleeping?”

He swore Harley visibly paled under questioning, but it could have been a trick of the sunlight. Peter watched the other man bow his head and idly rub at the back of his neck, trying to look anywhere but Peter. “I, uh, slept on the sofa.”

Before Peter could formulate a response, Harley had already turned away and started leading Elvis back toward the barn.

\--

“Peter! Phone for ya!” Macy called up the stairs.

Peter threw his iPhone onto his bed and practically vaulted down the staircase. He’d been waiting all morning for Elijah to call when he got the new part in for the Volvo. Macy smiled and handed over the receiver as Peter entered the study.

“Hello?” Peter was a little breathless and couldn’t get the phone to his ear fast enough.

“Hey son, it’s Elijah. Just wanted to let you know we got your part in first thing this mornin’. Looks like we should have your car done before we close tonight.”

“And, uh, what time is that?”

“Four, but if we’re almost done, I don’t mind stayin’ open a little longer.”

“Oh, sir you don’t have to do that! You’ve already done so much for me.”

“I’ll just give y’all a ring again when she’s done.” Elijah all but ignored Peter’s protests. “Give Macy and the Keeners my best, son.”

“Yessir, and that sounds great, thanks!”

They hung up and Peter dialed May next to tell her the news. Assuming Peter got his Volvo back tonight, their plan was for him to leave Rose Hill the next morning and drive to his grandparent’s house in D.C. Then, Tuesday morning he’d finish the last leg of the trip back to New York. May didn’t want Peter driving an unfamiliar route through the night, and Peter wasn’t too fond of the idea either. They both hoped that the Keeners would let him stay on the ranch for one last night.

May and Peter said their goodbyes and he immediately exited the study to go find Macy.

“Macy?” Peter hesitantly called out as he headed toward the kitchen, where he could hear the sink running and glasses clanging together.

“In here, hon!”

Peter entered the kitchen and saw her putting away the last of the dishes from the dishwasher. Macy straightened up and tossed her rag onto the hook above the sink. He ran a hand through his hair before speaking, a tinge of nervous energy flowed through his system.

“So, Elijah said my car will probably be ready by tonight. I was, uh, just wondering if it would be okay for me to stay another night? Of course, I’ll totally leave if you don’t want me to stay, but it would just be…nice? I can give you money or –”

Macy cut him off with the raise of a hand and Peter took a much-needed breath from the rush of words that left his mouth. “Peter, of course you can stay another night with us,” she said it as if it were the most obvious statement in the world. “I already planned to make dinner for all five of us. ‘Sides, it’ll be real nice to have one more night with you. We’re gonna miss you when you’re gone.”

She rested a hand on Peter’s shoulder and smiled at him sincerely, motherly even. In the moment, Peter was overcome by unexpected emotions that hit like a punch to the gut. He was more than thankful when the screen door slammed open, distracting both him and Macy. Beauty and Beast trotted into the kitchen and Peter immediately leaned down to pet them, focusing on the feeling of their fur under his hands to distract from foreign emotions. There was no way he was going to actually _miss_ Tennessee.

“Momma, grill’s ready whenever you are.” Harley headed toward the sink and turned on the tap as he pulled down a glass from the cabinet.

“I’m making some good ol’ fashioned Tennessee BBQ sliders for dinner. Gotta start now otherwise these things won’t be done at a reasonable time. They take _hours_ to cook.”

Macy picked up a tray of seasoned pork shoulders from the island and headed outside, boots clacking on the wooden floors the entire way. Peter followed to hold the door open while Harley stood against the sink, gulping down water like a man lost in the desert. As the door shut behind Macy, Peter turned back to Harley.

“Hey, I just wanted to say thanks. For the riding lessons.”

Harley chuckled and set down his glass. “Pleasure’s all mine, sweetheart. We told ya we’d make a Southerner outta you yet 'fore you left.”

“Speaking of leaving,” Peter ignored the sudden tightening in his chest at the words, “do you think you can give me a lift back to Elijah’s later today so I can pick up my car?”

“You – you’re leaving tonight?” For a moment, Harley looked like someone had slapped him across the face. He quickly recovered and smoothed his expression into something neutral, but Peter had already seen it. He decided not to comment.

“Nah, I just wanna pick it up so I can leave straight from here tomorrow morning.”

Harley nodded, looking a lot merrier than he had moments ago. “Sure! Just lemme know when you’re set to pick ‘er up.”

Not too long after three in the afternoon, Elijah phoned the Keener ranch again. Harley was closest to the study, so he picked up the call.

“Keener residence, Harley speakin’.”

“Hey son, it’s Elijah again.”

“Oh, do you wan’ me to get Peter for ya?” Harley was already moving to step away from the desk.

“Naw, just callin’ to tell him his car’s ready.”

“Alrighty, I’ll let him know.”

As if on cue, Peter wandered into the study. He had heard the phone ringing from the kitchen. Harley gave him a thumbs up with his free hand and finished the call with Elijah.

“Is the Volvo ready?” Peter’s elation at having his car back was tainted with sadness. The Volvo working made his departure from Rose Hill tomorrow something tangible.

“Yup! Ready if you are to head over.”

Harley was already striding toward the back door while Peter followed closely behind. The two men exited the farmhouse and Peter’s eyes flitted toward Macy and Jack hovering over the grill. There was no doubt in his mind that they were checking on the pork shoulders every five seconds as they cooked.

“Momma! We’re headin’ over to get Peter’s car!” He called to Macy as they made their way to the pick-up. “Need anythin’ from town?”

“No sir! Y’all drive safe, now!” Macy and Jack waved to the two men as they hauled themselves into the front seats of the Ford.

Harley stuck his key in the ignition and the pick-up roared to life. He took a moment to roll down the windows before taking off, tires crunching on the gravel driveway. When they passed Macy and Jack, Peter got a strong whiff of cooking meat. He practically salivated at the thought of a proper barbecue.

As the Ford cleared the ranch’s property lines, Peter leaned his head out the window and inhaled the fresh country air. He wanted to take in the sights, sounds and smells of Rose Hill one last time while they drove through the countryside toward town.

“You gon’ miss it?” Harley’s eyes flickered between Peter and the road. One hand was on the steering wheel while the other thrummed mindlessly to the tune of the radio.

Peter took some time to carefully consider Harley’s question as endless fields rolled by. “You know, I think I will.” He laughed a little at sincerity of his statement. “With all the hustle and bustle of the city, it’s surprisingly refreshing to have a change of pace.” Peter combed back his windswept hair and turned to face Harley. “Even when I stay with May on the weekends, our apartment in Queens is still in an urban area. I never get to just...be. Tell you the truth, this summer was the most I’ve seen of the countryside in my entire life.”

“Sorry you had to get stuck in Rose Hill, out of all the places in Tennessee, but I hope you enjoyed yer stay.”

“Well, I definitely won’t forget it,” Peter mused while he looked out the window again.

The drive into town felt shorter this time than it did yesterday. Since it was a Sunday afternoon, the shops were all but deserted with stores closed for the day. Peter shivered; it felt a bit like a ghost town. The Ford pulled into the small parking lot of Elijah’s shop and they saw the old man rummaging around inside the garage.

Peter leapt down from the truck while Harley stayed inside. The plan was for Peter to pick up his Volvo and follow Harley back to the ranch in it.

“Hey, Elijah!”

“Son,” the man nodded as he straightened up and dusted off his jeans. As he approached Peter, he tossed him the keys, catching Peter by surprise. He barely caught the keyring in time as it soared toward his face. “She’s all done. We filled up yer gas tank and did an oil change too, free of charge.”

“Wow, you really didn’t have to do any of that! Really, you’ve done enough already.”

Elijah coolly shrugged while he led Peter toward the back of the shop to finalize paperwork and pay for the repairs. Peter was going to leave Elijah the most generous tip he possibly could for all the work he’d done.

Once the business aspect was over, Elijah clapped Peter on the back as he walked him to the Volvo. “Pleasure doin’ business. Safe travels, now.”

Elijah tipped his hat to him while Peter unlocked his car and got inside. He nervously turned the key in the ignition, sighing in relief as the car purred to life. After Peter adjusted his seat, rearview mirror and side mirrors he was finally ready to buckle in and start the drive back to the ranch. Peter threw the Volvo in reverse and carefully backed out of Elijah’s garage. While he did a swift U-turn at the end of the parking lot, Harley turned onto the main road.

Peter was fairly confident that he could find his own way back to the ranch, considering Rose Hill was comprised of one main road, but he’d rather not chance it. On the main street, Peter’s Bluetooth connected to his iPhone. When music started blaring over the stereo, he jumped a foot in the air out of surprise. The vehicle swerved in the road as Peter accidentally jerked the wheel. He was not looking forward to the seven hour drive he had in front of him tomorrow.

The smell of cooking meat was even stronger once Peter and Harley returned to the ranch. He parked his Volvo next to Harley’s truck and both men exited their cars in sync. Since it was a beautiful day, Jack and Macy were sitting on the picnic bench in their backyard, shaded from the sun by an overhead umbrella. They were both armed with iced tea and watched Peter and Harley from the corner of their eyes. Beauty and Beast played in the grass with each other not too far off.

“Thanks for takin’ me into town and back.” Peter smirked as he looked up at Harley, “Might’ve gotten lost without you.” His voice was teasing.

“You’re lyin’, sugar.” Harley grinned as the two men bumped elbows while walking toward the patio.

Jack whistled, “Mighty fine car you have there, son.” He nodded his head toward the Volvo.

Peter turned back to look at his car. Sitting beside the pick-up, a tractor and horse trailer, his sleek, black Volvo looked as out of place as Peter felt the first time he had set foot on the ranch. Smiling to himself, he shrugged at Jack in return.

“Tea in the kitchen if you want some.” Macy gestured toward the house with her glass. “There’s some fresh peaches sittin’ on the counter too. Abi picked ‘em this afternoon’ before she left.”

“Thanks!” Peter yelled as the two made their way inside.

Peter immediately went to the sink to wash up while Harley went straight for the iced tea, downing an entire glass in record timing.

“Where’d Abi go?” Peter turned off the faucet and pulled off a paper towel to dry his hands.

“Dunno. Probably bikin’ round with her friends.” Harley shrugged and grabbed a peach from the dish Abi set out earlier. “She’ll be back by dinner though.”

Harley bit into the peach and found it juicer than expected. Juices flowed down his chin from the sweet fruit and his left hand flew up to stop it from dripping onto his clothes. Peter hurriedly grabbed some paper towels and thrust them toward the other man.

“Jesus...” Peter was only partially speaking of the fruit explosion. He was mostly referring to the sight of Harley furiously licking his lips to rid them of the peach’s sweet nectar. Peter turned his back to him and poured some iced tea, gulping away furiously at the drink as he made for the back door to join Macy and Jack outside.

“Trust the cars workin’ fine now?” Jack asked when Peter sat beside him at the picnic table.

“Yup! Fit as a fiddle, thanks to Elijah.”

“Good, good…” Jack nodded and trailed off, turning back to Macy as they discussed issues around the ranch.

Peter sipped his iced tea and took a moment to survey the backyard. He knew that the Keener’s owned at least 300 acres of farmland, but to see it with his own eyes was something completely different. There was an old tire swing idly spinning away under an oak tree and a stone fire pit on the other side. Adirondack chairs lined the pit while a few tree stumps were sprinkled around as stools or small tables. Fairy lights were strung around the pit on tall, wooden posts hammered into the earth.

Behind that was the rustic, wooden barn where the Keener’s horses were housed, and beside that the round pen where Harley taught Peter to ride. Further still were pastures and greenery for miles. Peter could tell that the sun would set perfectly over the hill in the distance, painting a beautiful picture of serenity.

“You guys really have a beautiful property.” Peter knew he was interrupting their conversation, but he couldn’t help himself. Beast ran up to him with a ball in his mouth and dropped it into Peter’s waiting hand. He sprinted away as Peter hurled it as far as he could.

“Oh, ours is small in comparison to some of the other ranches out here,” Macy looked around the property, a loving smile on her face, “but it’s definitely perfect.”

“Peter, I heard you learned to ride a horse today.” Jack turned to Peter on the bench beside him.

“Yeah, how’d it go?" Macy chimed in, "I hope Elvis didn’t give you any trouble. He loves Harley.”

“Not gonna lie, I was terrified at first, but it was really fun! Harley said I picked up the aids pretty fast. We just walked and trotted today.”

“All ya need is a cowboy hat and you’ll be a proper Southerner.” Jack laughed a hearty sound.

Macy hopped up to check on the pork shoulders. “Alrighty, these have ‘bout another hour and then they’ll be ready. Y’all wanna come in and help with the rest of dinner?”

Peter and Jack obliged, following Macy back into the farmhouse. Macy turned back once she reached the door and whistled to call the dogs inside. They found the kitchen empty upon entry; Harley nowhere in sight. The three of them cleared the counter tops and gathered around the island for a team huddle. Rolling up the sleeves of her denim shirt, Macy neatly laid out what needed to be done in the next hour.

“Alright, gentlemen, all that’s missin’ from this barbecue are the deviled eggs, baked beans and potato salad. My homemade barbecue sauce is already coolin’ in the fridge, so here’s what I’m thinkin’…”

Over the next hour, the three of them worked diligently to finish prepping all the food in time. Harley made an appearance thirty minutes into their cooking frenzy and went outside with Beauty and Beast to tend to the pork. Fifty minutes in was when Abi came home; her friends had dropped her off in the Keener’s driveway. She ran upstairs to put away her bags and then came back to help with the whirlwind of food, throwing her ginger locks up into a bun.

“Abi, Peter, can y’all start taking the food outside? Jack and I can handle the rest of it in here.”

Peter juggled the baked beans, potato salad and a pitcher of iced tea in his arms while Abi carried condiments and a plate of deviled eggs. As if on cue, Harley was at the back door to hold it open for them.

“Oh, thank God,” Peter sighed in relief at not having to open the door himself.

“Not him, but close enough.” Harley followed the statement with a wink and Peter nearly dropped all of the food in his arms. Macy would have been so disappointed.

“Shuddup Harley,” Abi snarked from behind Peter. If her arms weren’t full, Peter had no doubt in his mind that she would have punched her brother for the quip.

The second Peter stepped foot outside, the crisp evening air hit him like a brick to the face. It was turning into a beautiful night where he might even need a jacket later. Peter looked toward Harley and saw rolls galore on the grill with pulled pork piled high on a large, ceramic plate beside it.

“Damn, must be what heaven smells like.” Abi inhaled deeply while she unloaded her cargo onto the picnic bench.

"Language, young lady!" Jack said sharply as he exited the kitchen behind the duo. He gave a little wink when he walked by. "But ya ain't wrong. Welcome to the pearly gates."

“Buns’ll be done in a jiff, and then we can feast!” Harley examined one of the rolls to make sure they were browning on the bottom. The back door opened again and the dogs burst through, swarming him immediately.

“Beauty, Beast! Here!” Macy called to the canines sternly. They obeyed, leaving Harley and the pork alone. “Alrighty Peter, we’re gonna have a proper Tennessee barbecue and I hope you enjoy. I got lemon bars in the fridge for dessert later too.”

“Momma, can I play some music? Pleaseee?” Abi looked up at Macy with large, doe eyes. The kid was good, Peter had to admit.

Macy looked down at her daughter for a few more beats before finally breaking. “Fine – but nothin’ too loud and none of that rap nonsense.”

Abi broke into a grin and pulled out her phone. A few minutes later a slow, country love song filled the evening air. She dropped her phone into an empty solo cup and set it at the far end of the picnic bench. Peter eyed the apparatus thoughtfully.

“Hey, Abi, do you wanna use a proper speaker? I have a portable one upstairs.”

“Really? That’d be great, Peter!”

“I’ll be right back.” Peter got up from the picnic table and dashed toward the house. “Macy, you need anythin’ from inside?” He called over his shoulder.

“Nope! Thanks though, hon!”

Peter took the stairs two at a time until he reached the second floor landing, where he took large strides to the guest room. After some light digging through his backpack, he found his Bluetooth speaker. Peter walked back down the stairs and prayed to God that it had a decent charge left on it. He turned the device on and paired it with his iPhone as he made his way through the kitchen and out the back door.

“Here! You can just use my Spotify since the phone’s already connected.” Peter handed both pieces of technology to the youngest Keener.

“Thanks Peter, you’re the best!” Abi smiled up at Peter and he felt a twinge of sadness again. If he ever had a sibling, he’d like to think they’d be a lot like Abi.

Peter’s speaker was hung on the lowest branch of a nearby tree and Abi silenced her own phone. Music soon flooded the backyard at a much better quality than it was previously. Peter turned away from her and surveyed the picnic table. Harley was sitting next to Jack on one side while Macy was on the other. Did Peter want to sit next to Harley, or across from him?

He observed the man as he pondered his decision. Harley was smiling at something Jack said and Peter detected the early signs of crow’s feet crinkling in the corners of his eyes. The cowboy hat was long abandoned so his chestnut locks were gently blown into disarray by the evening breeze. Peter self-consciously ran a hand through his own mess of curls. This was the first time in a long time that Peter didn’t feel the need to be perfect, pristine and put together. The Keener’s just let Peter be…

“…Peter?”

_Goddamn it_. Peter had spaced out again. “Sorry Macy, spaced out for a second.” He made his way toward the picnic table and sat to the left of her, since Abi had taken the space next to Harley while Peter mused. Sitting down on the bench, Peter saw that Macy already fixed a plate for him. “Oh, you didn’t have to do that for me!” Peter started blushing while Harley laughed at him from across the table.

“Oh, I didn’t do it, hon. Harley did.”

If Peter thought he was blushing before, he was wrong by tenfold. “You – what – why?” Peter fixed Harley with an incredulous stare across the table.

“No offense city boy, but I highly doubt you’d know how to fix up a proper Tennessee slider.”

Peter started shoving potato salad into his mouth so he wouldn’t have to respond. The rest of the Keeners had already dug in and were engrossed in their routine dinner conversation. Macy’s food was never anything short of delicious and Peter would miss it for the rest of his life. Going back to the city meant back to take-out and an array of instant meals. Another stab of grief hit Peter in the gut at the thought of leaving the Keeners. He angrily pushed it away, sipping from his glass of iced tea. This was just a pit stop, a blip on the map. These people didn’t matter because Peter would _never see them again_.

He slammed his glass down on the picnic table.

Conversation around Peter came to a halt as four startled pairs of eyes turned to him. “S – sorry guys, my bad.” Forced laughter accompanied Peter’s lie and the family seemed to buy it. Only Harley’s gaze lingered on Peter for a little longer as his piercing gaze seemed to bore right though Peter.

The rest of the meal went by without a hitch. Peter sung enough praises for Macy’s cooking that even she was blushing by the end of the night. They had plenty of leftovers too, and she vowed to give some to Peter for his drive home tomorrow (another shot through Peter’s heart).

At the end of dinner, the kids cleared away the plates and took everything inside. Beauty and Beast circled the trio in the kitchen like sharks scenting blood in the water. They eagerly awaited scraps of everyone’s leftover food. While Abi took out the trash, Harley and Peter alternated between rinsing dishes and loading the dishwasher. During this time, Macy came in briefly to grab the lemon bars from the fridge before exiting again. They looked delicious and Peter’s stomach magically made room to accommodate dessert just by looking at them.

Once finished inside the kitchen, the trio made their way back outside for dessert. Peter stepped out of the farmhouse and was rendered breathless. The sun was setting over a hill on the horizon and it painted the evening sky a beautiful pink-orange. He had never had such an unobstructed view of the sunset before. Peter twirled idly so he could look toward all four corners of the world, taking in the vivid colors of the heavens.

“You good, darlin’?” Harley had exited the farmhouse after him and almost ran into Peter from how close he stood to the door.

“I just…I’ve never seen the sunset like this before.” Peter was speechless. His eyes widened impossibly further to take it all in. “The view it’s – it’s beautiful.”

When Harley responded he looked not upward, toward the sky, but down, at the man standing in front of him. “Yeah, it is.”

Once the sun was long gone behind the hills, Macy turned on the string lights surrounding the pit while Jack started a fire. A bag of marshmallows and some metal skewers were laid out on a tree stump next to the Adirondack chair Macy had settled in to. Jack plopped down across from her, staring contemplatively into the flames. Peter exited the farmhouse and sat on the other side of Macy, effectively putting him right next to Harley too.

Peter had just gotten off the phone with May, who he updated on the car’s status and confirmed his plans for tomorrow. He wouldn’t admit it, but it often comforted Peter to sit and listen to his aunt’s voice for a little while. Peter was weighed down by the myriad of things on his mind: the drive home, taking the Volvo out on the open road again and how things might change once he reached New York (and unpacking his egregiously over packed suitcase).

Above all though, at the forefront of Peter’s worries was formulating one of the hardest goodbyes of his life. His departure from Rose Hill was rapidly approaching, and Peter still didn’t have the right words to say. How did you tell four people, who were strangers to you three days previous, that they’ve irrevocably changed your life?

Peter involuntarily shivered and curled in on himself, drawing his knees up to his chest.

“You cold, sweetheart?”

“Uh, yeah. A little.” Peter was only wearing a thin t-shirt, once again regretting his lack of packed outerwear.

“Hold on.” Harley got up out of his chair and headed back toward the house.

Across from Peter, Abi was roasting a skewer full of marshmallows. He watched her for a bit.

“Peter, ya want one?” Macy held out a metal rod from beside him and nudged the bag of marshmallows in his direction.

“Yeah, totally!” Peter expertly speared two marshmallows and held them close to the blue flames flickering out from the bottom of the burning wood. Once the sugary fluff caught fire, he let them burn for a few moments before holding them up for examination. Peter gently blew out the flames and smiled; _perfect._

“You can’t let ‘em burn for that long!” Abi called from across the fire pit.

“What are you talking about? Burnt marshmallows are obviously the best.” Peter ate one off his stick and made noises of appreciation for emphasis.

“Nuh-uh! You just need ‘em brown not burnt.” Abi held hers up for Peter to see.

“Abi, that’s barely roasted.”

“No, it’s perfect.” She pouted at Peter.

“No, you have to burn them. There’s no other way.”

“Momma!”

The two lightheartedly argued back and forth until Harley reappeared. He too had put a jacket on while inside. There was an acoustic guitar in one hand and second a jacket in the other, which Harley tossed in Peter’s direction as he got closer to the fire pit.

‘Oh, thanks, but you didn’t have to!” Peter protested weakly, already in the process of shrugging Harley’s hoodie over his head.

He realized rather quickly that he was practically swimming in the garment. The sleeves went down to Peter’s fingertips and he was sure that, if he stood, the hem would hit mid-thigh. He sunk into the Adirondack chair and tugged the sleeves down to properly cover his hands, like built in gloves. Peter cradled his face to warm his cheeks and watched Harley as he tuned the guitar. The marshmallows were forgotten.

Harley Keener as a whole utterly perplexed Peter. They had chemistry, that was undeniable, and Peter was sure Harley could feel it too. He was torn. Under normal circumstances, Peter would have shot his shot on the day they met – but these weren’t normal circumstances. Here, on the ranch in Rose Hill, they were just two guys. Outside of that, they were so much more. They had their own set of obligations, aspirations and lifestyles. What did you do when the elephant in the room was seven-hundred and twenty miles long?

Peter tilted his head back to look at the night sky while Harley started strumming the opening lines of Johnny Cash’s “I Walk the Line.” The Keener’s ranch was away from the bright lights of any nearby cities and spared the haze of pollution. Peter would wager that his naked eye could see the stars with more clarity than any telescope in New York City. Mentally, he tried to point out constellations to himself but gave up shortly after. If only he’d paid more attention back in his 5th grade science class.

If Peter could rewrite Merriam-Webster's Dictionary, he would capture this moment in time and categorize it under the definition of ‘serenity.’

Resting his head against the cool wood of the Adirondack chair, Peter closed his eyes and immersed himself in the sound of Harley’s singing. Just as when he spoke, Harley’s words were accented with an almost lazy southern drawl, but the notes came out gravelly from somewhere deep within his chest. Peter could practically see Harley’s fingers moving fluidly from fret to fret as he listened to the man play from behind closed eyes.

During his time in Rose Hill, Peter had fought country music tooth and nail. Now, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was only because he hadn’t heard the right person singing it.

Harley continued playing for the better part of an hour, mostly requests from everyone around the fire, while Peter briefly nodded in and out of consciousness. The strain of the day, Macy’s legendary dinner, dessert and the dulcet tones of Harley’s guitar made the perfect recipe for sleep. At some point in the night, Beast had made his way over to Peter’s chair and curled up beside it. Focusing on petting Beast’s coarse fur was all that tethered Peter to the land of wakefulness. He truly couldn’t remember the last time he had been this content.

“Well, kids, I’m gonna turn in for the night. Old man like me can’t keep up with you anymore.” Jack said his goodbyes to everyone and headed inside. “See y’all tomorrow!”

While Jack slowly made his way into the farmhouse, Harley played another song at Macy’s request (“Jolene”) and then she too retired, following their grandfather inside.

“Goodnight kids! Don’t stay up too late! We got an early mornin’ tomorrow.” Macy kissed each of them on the head, even Peter, before she turned and went inside. She whistled a shrill sound and the dogs flanked her, heading inside for bed. “Whoever’s last in for the night, make sure ya tend to the fire!”

“I think I’m gonna head in too, guys.” Abi stood up from her Adirondack chair and twisted left and right, audibly cracking her back.

“What! Yer goin’ to bed already?” Harley looked surprised.

“Nah, I just don’t wanna third wheel.” Abi threw a sly glance at the two men before grabbing her blanket and heading toward the farmhouse.

Peter gaped at her retreating form. _Great_.

Harley gently propped his guitar up in the Adirondack chair next to him and took a long sip from his water. “Thank God, my throat was gettin’ drier than the Sahara.”

“Are you heading inside too?” Peter tried not let disappointment creep into his voice.

“And waste a beautiful night like this? Naw.”

Harley stood and shook out his limbs, stiff from holding the guitar for so long. He raised his arms to the sky and slowly did some side bends. Peter tried his best not to stare at Harley’s exposed skin as his shirt rode up during the stretches. He looked back up at the stars to remove temptation completely.

“Betcha never get a view like this in New York.” Harley was now working to douse the fire pit, even though the once roaring flames had been reduced to practically embers by this point.

“You are one-hundred percent correct.” Peter sighed, “I wish I paid more attention in the fifth grade when Mrs. Berner taught us the constellations.”

Harley laughed while Peter stared back at him with a lopsided grin. “If you want, I can point ‘em out to ya?”

_Hell_, what else was he doing with his Sunday night. “That sounds amazing.”

Peter didn’t hesitate to take the hand that Harley offered him as he pulled him up and out of the Adirondack chair. Upon standing, Harley’s borrowed hoodie fell to Peter’s mid-thigh, just as he’d expected. It was a nice maroon color. Harley eyed Peter up and down with a thoughtful expression on his face.

“You look nice in that. Should keep it.”

“What? No, it’s yours!” Peter immediately felt the telltale signs of a blush forming as he was caught off guard by the offer.

“Don’t worry darlin’. Got plenty more where that came from.” Harley started walking away from the fire pit. Peter saw he was heading up the hill and followed a few paces behind. “Hope you don’t mind layin’ in the grass.”

Once the pair reached the hilltop, Harley plopped down onto the plush grass. His limbs were sprawled out on the ground and his eyes were open, gaze pointed skyward. Peter joined him in the grass, lying down a foot away to give the other man some space. After Peter made himself comfortable on the damp earth, he looked over toward Harley. The light of the moon illuminated his face.

“Eyes on the sky, sweetheart.”

Peter quickly averted his gaze, putting his game face on. “Right, sky. Constellations.” He cleared his throat, “So…where’s the best place to start?”

“Well, might as well start with the Little Dipper since it’s the easiest to spot.” Harley pointed above them and a little to the left. “Follow the line of my arm. You see that real bright star, where my finger is?” Peter scooted closer to Harley and nodded his head. “That’s Polaris, the North Star. He makes up the tip of the Little Dipper’s handle.”

Harley traced out the rest of the Little Dipper with his pointer finger. “And if you follow Polaris in a straight line over here, you’ll reach the Big Dipper.”

“Oh shit,” Peter muttered under his breath. Once Harley pointed the stars out to him, he could see the outline of each constellation clear as day.

“Over there is Hercules, my personal favorite.” Harley traced the stars once again with his fingers. “It’s the cluster that kind of looks like a…dancing man?” He tilted his head and squinted at the collection of stars.

Peter laughed while he successfully followed Harley’s line of sight once again. Initially putting distance between himself and Harley was useless now, since Peter was all but plastered against his side. He kept telling himself that there was no other way to properly see where Harley pointed to unless he was pressed close to the other man.

“Hey, where’d you learn about the constellations?”

Peter looked over at Harley, who shifted uncomfortably before answering. “From my daddy, ‘fore he left, that is.”

“Yeah, Abi told me a little about that this morning.”

Harley maneuvered one hand behind his head while the other laid awkwardly on his chest, trapped by Peter. He sighed, “Yuuuup. I was a hot mess back in the day. Bless Momma’s heart for getting’ through it like she did," Harley paused, as if debating whether to continue speaking or not, “I was just so…angry. I was fifteen when he walked out. Abi was only eight.”

Peter looked over at Harley while he spoke. “I was angry at the world and put the blame everywhere ‘cept where it belonged: on Jack Keener Junior. Though I hate what Daddy did to us, I’m thankful for the man it made me into.”

“Hey, I get it.” Peter wasn’t good at touchy-feely, but while they were here, he might as well try, right? “After my parents died,” Harley inhaled sharply but Peter refused to meet his gaze just yet, “my aunt and uncle took me in. They raised me like their own.” Peter crossed his arms over his chest as he continued staring at the starry sky. “Least, they did until Ben left May when I was ten. After that it was just us. Me and May against the world.”

“Peter, I’m so sorry ‘bout your parents –”

He cut Harley off. “Don’t be. I was only three, so I barely remember them. I wish I did though, but I just…can’t.”

Peter had never said it out loud before, but he always felt a sense of loss at not being able to remember his parents. Peter loved May dearly. She was a mother to him more than an aunt, but late at night when the rest of the world was asleep, Peter profoundly wished that he could remember his parents. Just one sliver of a memory would be enough.

“Anyway, I know what it feels like to have someone walk out of your life and never look back.”

Harley nodded in solemn agreement next to him. “Little things remind me of him still every day, and I can’t even remember the good times because of the hurt.” He abruptly sat up in the grass. Harley’s voice dropped to the ghost of a whisper and Peter’s ears strained to hear. “I look just like him, you know. Sometimes…sometimes Momma won’t even look at me, ‘cause all she’ll see is him.”

Peter sat immediately sat up beside the other man. “Hey, Harley, look at me.” The other man obliged. “You are _not_ your father. In literally three days, you’ve already shown me that you’re a good person. A truly good person.”

Peter was cupping Harley’s face now, making sure he heard the words he was saying, “Your dad did a shitty thing, but it’s a part of you now. Hold on to the good times because the man in your happy memories isn’t the same one who walked out your front door and never looked back.” He let his hands slip away and turned from Harley, speaking in a softer tone now, “At least you have good times to remember.”

Harley draped his arm around Peter and drew him into his chest. Peter let him.

“I hate flying, you know. It’s why I drove all the way from Manhattan to New Orleans. I have a fucking phobia of flying thanks to my dead parents that I can’t even _fucking _remember.” Peter furiously wiped at his eyes with the sleeves of Harley’s sweatshirt. He wasn’t crying _goddamn it_. His grass allergy was just acting up.

Harley rubbed idle circles into Peter’s arm from where his was curled around the other man’s shoulder. It was oddly comforting.

“Despite the shitty circumstances that landed us here, I'm glad to have met you, Peter Parker.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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> 
> Thanks guys!
> 
> @Spooky-Parker on Tumblr


	4. Monday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> __  
**Suggested Listening:**  
Make You Miss Me - Sam Hunt  
Oceans Away - A R I Z ON A  
Tennessee Whiskey – Chris Stapleton  
Home – Daughtry  
Life is a Highway – Rascal Flatts

Peter woke up to the sound of his phone alarm going off. He threw a hand across the nightstand and blindly groped for the device, still refusing to open his eyes just yet. His fingers finally grasped the phone and Peter pulled it from the nightstand, swiping the alarm off with his thumb. He squinted down at the bright light of the iPhone’s screen: 8:00 am.

Peter sat up and ground the palms of his hands into his eyes in an effort to shake off the fog of sleep. Harley and him had stayed outside last night well into the AM talking under a full moon on a beautiful, cloudless night. While sitting up in bed, Peter simultaneously regretted nothing and everything. His entire body was sore from riding Elvis, his liver still hated him from Saturday night and his brain felt sleep deprived. _God, how was he supposed to drive for seven hours_?

Throwing back the covers, Peter surveyed his bedroom. Dirty clothes that should have been packed last night were still scattered around the floor. As he made the bed, Peter kept throwing disdainful glances at the garments. Once that was finished he slowly sat down on the floor, wincing the entire way. Jarring pain shot through Peter’s lower back and thighs. Gingerly, he started weeding through the clothes scattered around him. Peter didn’t bother folding anything since it was all dirty, instead opting to toss the clothing straight into his suitcase. The gears in Peter’s brain continuously turned to plan out his driving schedule while he packed; if he could leave the Keener’s ranch by 10 am he would make it to his grandparents’ by dinner.

Involuntarily, Peter’s stomach did flips at the thought of leaving the Keener’s ranch – of leaving Harley. He squashed the feelings down before they could properly bloom, not wanting to walk through the door that train of thought led down. Peter was leaving Tennessee and going back to New York to prepare for his senior year at Columbia and his professional future afterwards. There was no room for a long-distance relationship in any of these plans. There was no room for Tennessee.

Peter zipped up his suitcase and did one more scan of the bedroom before concluding that everything non-essential had been packed. Clean clothes for the day were sitting atop his dresser, where he had laid them out the night before. He grabbed them and made his way to the bathroom for a shower. Slowly pulling the door open, Peter peered out into the hallway. He could hear faint voices and smell coffee wafting up from downstairs, but all was quiet on the second floor. Peter quickly padded across the wooden floor toward the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind him.

Tossing his clothes onto the toilet seat, he drew the curtain and turned the brass knobs in the shower. Peter shivered a little while he waited for the water to heat up, cool air blowing across his skin from the air vent above. When the water reached an acceptable temperature, Peter stepped inside. He wearily eyed Harley’s shampoo and sighed. The steam from the hot water made sure the apple scented shampoo forced its way into Peter’s olfactory system, choking his senses. After that, Peter made a conscious effort to block out any thoughts of the Keener’s, instead focusing on kneading out the aches in his body from horseback riding.

A cylindrical container of hair gel sat on the dresser and stared, almost mockingly, back at Peter. Here, in rural Tennessee, he was content letting his curls run wild. Outside of Rose Hill, though? Not so much. A few more seconds passed in their staring contest before Peter begrudgingly conceded. He picked up the hair gel in defeat and spun off the lid.

After getting ready for the day in a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a graphic tee, Peter slung his backpack over his shoulder and pulled up the handle of his suitcase. Standing in the doorway, Peter took in the sight of his guest room one last time. He smiled fondly before turning away to roll his luggage down the hallway. The wheels clacked the entire way on the hardwood floors. Peter struggled to carry his navy monstrosity down the stairs, but still managed to succeed with relative ease.

“Peter, that you?” Macy called from the kitchen.

“Yeah! Just takin’ my suitcase out to the car awhile.”

At the bottom of the stairs, the back wheel jammed. Peter was forced to pick up his luggage and waddle to the front door, huffing and puffing the entire way. It was like his own belongings were protesting leaving Rose Hill.

After a tumultuous time, Peter finally made it to the front door. He opened and unlocked the hulking piece of wood and was met by the blinding sunshine of a new day. Hurriedly, Peter fumbled around in the side pocket of his backpack for his Aviators while shielding his sensitive eyes. Like icing on the cake, it was almost as hot outside as the first day that Peter set foot in Rose Hill. An Indian Summer was upon the state.

Peter wheeled his suitcase across the gravel driveway through the path of least resistance and unlocked his Volvo using the key fob. In the distance, he could hear the barking of dogs and very faint voices. Some of the Keeners were up and tending to the animals. Once Peter’s suitcase was loaded into the trunk he walked toward the backyard and took in the ranch one last time, intent on savoring this moment alone.

When Peter was fully satisfied with committing each hill, valley and tree to memory, he turned away. Long strides carried him back to the house, where he climbed the front porch steps two at a time. Peter hooked his sunglasses onto his t-shirt collar as he stepped out of the glittering sun and into air conditioning.

“I figured you could use a good meal ‘fore ya left, so I’m makin’ eggs, ham and biscuits for breakfast. Help yourself to coffee.” Macy called to Peter without turning around.

He entered the kitchen and pulled down a mug from the cup cabinet from beside Macy. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Abi and Jack are outside tendin’ to the cows. Harley’s not up yet.”

Peter was shocked that the eldest Keener was still sleeping. Every morning so far, Harley seemed to be the first person awake in the household. Peter moved to the island to fix his coffee while he gave her some space to work.

“Do you need help with anything?”

“Actually, if you could go and wake Harley in ‘bout,” Macy paused to look down at her watch, “ten minutes that’d be great!”

Macy went back to cooking and Peter leaned against the island while he sipped his coffee. His gaze continually strayed towards the wooden clock hanging on the wall. Peter wasn’t counting down the time _per se_, he was just making sure that Harley got the full ten minutes of extra sleep.

After exactly ten minutes to the second hand had passed, Peter gave the wooden counter top a little tap before standing to make his way back upstairs. He took the staircase at a slow ascent so his coffee wouldn’t spill out of the cup. The brown liquid sloshed within the confines of Peter’s mug the entire walk up. Harley’s blue ‘H’ on his door stood out like a beacon as Peter approached. He tentatively knocked on the door.

No response.

Peter banged on the wood a little harder and was still met with no response. He gripped the door knob while slowly turning it, cringing at each squeak the brass omitted in protest. The telltale ‘click’ of a door opening allowed Peter to swing the door wide and peer inside.

Harley was sprawled across the middle of his bed still asleep. Peter smiled down at the other man while he sipped his coffee, something like affection clawing its way into his heart. The bed sheet and comforter were lying skewed at the end of the bed – Harley must have kicked them off during the night. He was only clad in a pair of flannel pajama pants, torso and upper body completely exposed.

Peter turned to quickly dart his eyes up and down the hallway. No one was in sight. He stole a few moments to himself and committed the long, lean lines of Harley’s body to memory one last time. Sighing heavily, Peter gently set his mug down on Harley’s dresser and moved toward the bed. He had never woken anyone else up before that wasn’t Ned, and the one time he’d done it, it involved a bucket of ice and MJ videotaping.

Peter bent over and awkwardly started shaking Harley’s arm. “Harley, you gotta wake up.” The other man shifted, but didn’t wake. Peter shook harder.

An arm flew up and almost clocked him in the jaw, but Peter stepped back just in time.

“Whoa! It’s just me, Peter!”

Harley rolled over and waved a hand. “Don’ worry. Tell Momma I’ll be down soon.”

Peter’s eyes widened impossibly further as he went into cardiac arrest. If he thought Harley’s thick as molasses drawl was irresistible before, the added morning roughness only made it worse. Much, much worse. Peter quickly backed out of Harley’s room and closed the door behind him. He leaned against the door and took several deep breaths before hightailing it back downstairs.

Abi, Jack and the dogs came thundering through the back door at the same moment that Peter walked into the kitchen. While Abi went to wash up, Peter grabbed the stack of plates from the counter and started setting the table. Abi followed with silverware once she returned. Jack took his usual spot at the head of the table while Beauty and Beast curled up around his ankles. When they were done setting the table, Abi helped Macy finish up breakfast while Peter sat and made small talk with Jack.

A short time later, when Macy finished cooking, Peter stood and started shuttling food over to the dining room table. Harley appeared not long after, hair still wet from coming straight out of the shower. The scent of apples wafted past Peter as Harley moved around him and something pulled at Peter’s heartstrings.

“You left yer mug in my room.” Harley smirked at Peter while he placed the ceramic cup into the sink.

Peter felt his face heat up as he mumbled back a ‘sorry.’

The five of them didn’t talk much over breakfast, a somber mood overshadowing the entire meal. Peter preferred the silence anyway so he could swallow down his feelings with food. They all tried to draw the meal out as long as possible and prolong the inevitable. He should be happy to finally go home, but Peter found he just…couldn’t be. This would be the last time he’d eat a meal with the Keeners. The last time he’d enjoy the hominess of their farmhouse.

Around 9:30, everyone simultaneously rose from the table to start cleanup. Harley and Abi took dish duty, rinsing everything off and loading the dishwasher, while Macy and Peter continued talking about his travel plans. Macy was packing food away while Peter leaned his elbows on the kitchen island. In the background, Peter heard the door slam. Jack had headed outside with the dogs.

Macy finished putting away the leftovers from breakfast and grabbed a paper bag out of the refrigerator. She walked over to Peter with it. “I packed you some leftover lemon bars and barbecue for the road. Don’t make yourself sick, but make sure you eat.” Her voice was stern, motherly.

Peter opened the paper bag and peered inside. There were two Pyrex Tupperware containers and a hamburger bun inside a Ziploc bag. The larger container on the bottom held pulled pork while the smaller one on top contained a generous amount of lemon bars. He almost wept at the sight.

“Oh, Macy, you didn’t have to give me all this!” A wave of emotion washed over Peter at seeing the carefully packaged food inside.

“Hon, when are you gonna learn that it’s really no trouble. Despite the circumstances, it was a genuine pleasure to host you all weekend.” She looked at Peter in a way only a mother could.

Peter smiled before turning away when he felt the tell-tale prickle of emotions at the corner of his eyes. He refused to cry. “Uh, I forgot my toothbrush in the bathroom. Be back down.” Peter’s voice came out shaky and he hated it. He didn’t forget anything, Peter just needed the moment alone.

“Okay, hon. We’ll be outside waitin’ for ya.”

Peter took the stairs two at a time to reach the bathroom. He grabbed hold of the edge of the marble sink with a white-knuckled grip, furiously blinking back the rogue tears that threatened to spill. Taking several deep breaths to calm himself, Peter finally looked into the mirror above the sink. He turned on the water.

“Get a grip, Peter…”

He splashed his face with ice cold water, relishing in the feel as it hit his skin.

If there was one thing that Peter Parker couldn’t do, it was goodbyes. His entire life had been full of goodbyes and nothing came of them except hurt and indescribable loss. No, Peter was going to go outside and pretend that this wasn’t a goodbye but an ‘until next time,’ like he always did. He could get the Keener’s number, stay in touch for a little while and then slowly stop contact until Tennessee was nothing more than a fond remembrance.

Peter angrily tore a paper towel off the holder and blotted his face with it. He tossed the wet rag into a nearby waste bin before heading back downstairs, boots creaking all the way down. The house was empty once he reached the first floor since all of its occupants were waiting outside. Deciding to indulge, Peter took a moment to walk around the farmhouse one last time and commit each room to memory.

When he was satisfied, Peter put on his Aviators and exited the front door. He was met with the sight of all four Keeners sitting on the front porch. Jack and Macy were rocking in white, wooden rocking chairs while Beauty and Beast sat between them. Abi was sitting on the ledge of the front porch with her feet dangling over the side, and Harley sat beside her, cross-legged. They all stood in tandem when Peter appeared.

Beauty and Beast greeted Peter first, as if sensing he was leaving for more than just a drive into town. He kneeled to the ground so he could pet them while the canines showered him with kisses. Behind the dogs, Jack walked over to Peter and held out a hand. He rose to shake it.

“Son, it was a pleasure meetin’ ya. Good luck with school and in the future. You’re a fine young man.” Peter smiled through Jack’s firm handshake and looked up fondly at the older gentleman, who clapped him on the back in return.

Jack slowly made his way back to his rocking chair while Peter approached Abi next, who was shuffling her feet not too far off. Macy and Harley were still deep in a hushed conversation. Peter extended a hand to Abi and she eyed it warily, mirroring their initial meeting.

Abi looked a little unsure of herself before she stepped forward and hugged Peter, taking him a little by surprise. He returned the hug and smiled down at her.

“What’s the most important thing you learned this weekend?” Abi had a sly smile on her face.

“Sugar is for berries, not grits.”

Abi gave Peter a playful punch in the arm. He waited until her back was turned to rub at the sore spot, mildly impressed by the power in her swing. Macy stepped toward Peter next as Harley and Abi started bickering in the background.

She put her hands on Peter’s shoulders and faced him, almost eye-level. “Now, are ya sure you have everythin’ you need? Wallet, phone, keys – did you pack the food already?”

Peter paled and slapped a hand over his face. “Oh my God, I forgot the food inside on the island.”

Macy gave him a knowing smile while Harley headed toward the front door. “I’ll get it Peter, don’t worry.”

Peter ran a hand through his hair. “That was like, the most important thing you gave me I’m such an idiot. How could I forget –”

Macy cut Peter off by pulling him into a tight hug. “Don’t worry, sweetheart.” She rubbed circles into his back comfortingly. “Now, did ya use the bathroom already?”

Peter nodded.

“Make sure you have enough money for gas if you need to stop somewhere? The prices are pretty steep til ya hit Knoxville.”

“Yeah, I got enough cash yesterday when we were in town.”

“Good, good. Uh, did Harley give you our home number? So you can call us once you reach your grandparents house?” Macy started searching her pockets looking for a pen.

“Yup! Put it into my phone on Saturday, actually.”

Macy tapped her foot on the wooden porch as she thought some more. “If you need to sleep, don’t be afraid to pull over. I know that always killed Jack back in the day when we’d take road trips.” She looked concerned and Peter smiled to ease her worries.

“Don’t worry Macy, seven hours is nothing!” She looked skeptical, but Harley reappeared before Macy could say anything else.

Harley held the paper bag full of food in his arms and gestured towards Peter, “Here, I’ll walk you to your car.”

Peter gave Macy one last, long hug. “Thank you – you and your family – for everything.” He hoped she understood all the things that went unspoken. They stepped back from each other. Peter gave the other Keeners a final wave before turning to follow Harley down the steps.

The Volvo was parked off to the side of the house so Harley and Peter had a little privacy, even though Peter knew that the other Keeners were discreetly watching. Using the key fob, Peter unlocked the doors as they reached the vehicle and took the paper bag from Harley. He propped his sunglasses up onto his head and bent over to carefully place the food on the floor of the passenger seat. A wince of pain escaped Peter’s lips while he rearranged things. His lower back was still tender.

Once Peter was satisfied, he straightened up. At some point, Harley must’ve come closer to lean on the open door of the Volvo, so when Peter stood it brought him face to face with the other man. He was caught off guard by the sudden closeness and took a hesitant step backward.

“Um…” Peter leaned against the Volvo and flitted his gaze anywhere but Harley, at a loss for words. Raking a hand through his gelled hair, Peter looked down and started dragging his boot through the gravel. He bit his lip.

“It was really nice gettin’ to know you this weekend.” Harley was looking right at Peter as he spoke, “I meant what I said last night. I’m really glad that I met you.”

_What the fuck do you say to that?_

“Yeah, I’m glad too,” Peter’s voice cracked. He aggressively cleared his throat and tried again, “Thank you – for showing me Rose Hill. It’s truly a beautiful place and…and I learned a lot in three days. Also thank you for teaching me to ride a horse. I’ll, uh, definitely be feeling that one for a while.” Peter laughed a little too hard as he added the last bit, still looking down at the ground.

After a few beats, he finally mustered up the courage to meet Harley’s eye. The other man broke into a lopsided smile. Another awkward silence stretched between them as the two men shuffled in place, looking anywhere but each other. Peter and Harley were teetering on the edge of a precipice, both having everything and nothing to say.

“Well, I better get goin’.” Peter drew out the sentence as long as he could, not knowing what would come after.

“Yeah, I guess.” Harley shut the passenger door to the Volvo while Peter turned on his heels. He determinedly walked toward the driver’s side door and didn’t look back.

Over breakfast, Peter had rehearsed in his mind how he would say goodbye to each Keener. Jack, Abi and Macy went pretty much as expected. Harley though, his dear sweet Harley, had no playbook. There was no script, no predictability. Five minutes ago, Peter was resolute on giving the man a friendly hug – but now? Now, faced with the ‘now or never-ness’ of the moment, he chickened out.

Peter chickened out because he knew that if he had any physical contact with Harley he’d never go back to New York. That was the sad, irrevocable truth.

The car door slammed satisfyingly loud as Peter got into the Volvo. Inside, he double checked the interior of his car to make sure everything was packed. Peter’s eyes flitted to Harley’s hoodie sitting in the front seat and he quickly looked away. Instead, he made sure that that bag holding Macy’s food was safely secured on the passenger seat’s floor. After as much procrastination as possible, Peter turned his key in the ignition. His sigh of exasperation was drowned out by the Volvo’s engine purring to life. 

It was time to go home.

\--

The dulcet tones of a twangy guitar filled the interior of Peter’s car as soon as he hit Rose Hill’s city limits. The Volvo’s Bluetooth had finally decided to connect to Peter’s iPhone. He jumped in surprise at the sudden noise, body strung taut with tension ever since he left the Keener’s front porch. Messages started flooding his phone as one notification chimed into another, indicating that he had reached an area with cell reception. Peter hadn’t used the device once in the past three days except for a few times in the morning, a drastic change to how it was practically glued to his hand in the city.

Peter glanced at his Spotify and found it was still pulling songs off of Abby’s stupid “Country Love” playlist. Memories of eating barbecue and sitting around the fire pit from the night before flooded his brain and were angrily pushed away as quickly as they came. Tennessee was nothing more than a memory now, left in the physical and metaphorical dust. Peter’s left thumb hovered over the “+” button on his steering wheel to change the song, but he hesitated.

_You’re as smooth as Tennessee Whiskey…_

He shifted in the driver’s seat and ran a hand through his neatly gelled curls. Something was familiar about this song. Peter shook his head, physically shaking off the memories that attempted to claw their way to the forefront of his mind.

_You’re as sweet as strawberry wine…_

Peter’s knuckles gradually turned white as his grip on the leather steering wheel tightened. An undeniable memory was forming. Whispered words in the dark and the feeling of falling asleep wrapped around a warm body flashed before Peter’s eyes. Again, he tried to brush it off. He kneaded the fabric under his fingers to refocus on the road in front of him.

_You’re as warm as a glass of brandy…_

Peter could only look ahead, not behind.

_Honey, I stay stoned on your love all the time…_

His boot down slammed down on the brake pedal before Peter’s brain could fully process his foot’s decision. The Volvo screamed in protest as the wheels jerked to a halt. The car skidded to a shaky stop on the hot asphalt.

Peter remembered that night.

_You’re as smooth as Tennessee whiskey…_

The memories washed over him like a tidal wave and he let them. Peter closed his eyes and remembered the sound of the Mason-Dixon Line playing this song, remembered the smell of Harley’s cologne as he held Peter close and remembered the feeling of Harley’s arms around him as they fell asleep wrapped up in each other.

_Tennessee whiskey…_

As the puzzle pieces fell into place, Peter had a revelation. Harley never slept on the sofa that night, per Peter’s own request. He furiously rubbed his temples while his heart hammered away, threatening to burst from his rib cage.

_Tennessee whiskey_

The final notes of the song played out through the Volvo’s speakers and, as if on cue, the signal cut out again. Without Wi-Fi, Abi’s playlist refused to play anymore. Peter sat in silence. Pure, unadulterated silence.

Peter was stopped dead in the middle of the road on a seventy-mile highway. There were no other cars for miles in front of or behind Peter, just rolling plains and grassland. He closed his eyes while his head leaned forward to rest against the steering wheel, taking a moment to think.

Not even bothering with a three-point turn, Peter instead allowed the Volvo’s wide turning radius to destroy the grass that lined the side of the road as he pulled a hasty U-turn. He was a city boy born and bred; the electric thrum of New York City sang through his veins and he lived his life a mile per minute. However, by some sick joke from God himself, Peter’s heart had been lassoed by a man born in the rolling hills of Tennessee. Whose Southern drawl was as thick as molasses and movements were as fluid as a stream.

Peter was plagued by memories of the past three days as he drove. The perfect domesticity that he was blessed enough to be part of, Keener family meals, the feeling of flying while he rode in Elvis’ saddle, the refreshingly slow pace at which everyone in Rose Hill worked off of, breathtaking sunsets and the tranquility of the countryside. Peter also remembered Harley. Harley’s laugh when he’d tease Peter, Harley’s kindness in the little things that he would say, how much he cared for Peter in the things that he did, the way Harley looked last night under the stars and just…Harley. _Harleyharleyharley_.

The Volvo’s odometer never dropped below 80 as Peter drove back to Rose Hill. His eyes flickered toward the dashboard clock; only twenty minutes had passed since he stepped off of the Keener’s front porch. Peter could make it back in half that and probably still catch them outside. At least, he hoped.

Abi sat on the edge of the front porch, feet idly kicking up small stones on the ground below her boots. Jack and Macy were still seated in their rocking chairs, gently swaying back and forth as they spoke in hushed tones. Beauty and Beast lay at their feet contentedly. Harley had gone back inside as soon as Peter’s Volvo was out of sight without a word to his family members.

From off in the distance they could hear a car rapidly approaching. The dogs started barking in tandem and all three Keeners stood up at the commotion. Across the open fields, they spotted a black vehicle heading toward the ranch a few miles down the road.

“Jack, you owe me ten dollars.” Macy’s eyes never left the automobile as she spoke, triumphant smile on her face.

Jack looked down at his wristwatch and grudgingly complied, pulling a crisp, ten-dollar bill from his wallet.

Abi looked at them both, confused. “Momma, what were y’all bettin’ on?”

The smirk widened on Macy’s face. “How long it would take Peter to come back.”

“Peter? What –” Abi squinted harder to get a better look at the car approaching down their ridiculously long driveway and gasped, “Oh my God!” She wrenched the front door open and ran inside, “Harley!” Abi shouted as she made her way toward the staircase.

Peter pulled up to the Keener’s front porch so fast that he almost did a burnout in their driveway. The gearshift was barely in park when he scrambled out of the driver’s seat and to his feet. At the same moment that Peter exited the car, Harley burst through the front door with Abi on his heels. Macy and Jack just watched with big smiles from their rocking chairs.

Peter approached the front porch where all four Keeners gathered, but he only had eyes for Harley. His heart was beating out of his chest from the adrenaline. Nervous, Peter blurted out the first thing that came to mind:

“I have enough clothes in my car for a month.” A tinge of desperation laced Peter’s voice. Feelings weren’t his thing, they never were. He just really hoped that Harley understood what Peter was trying to say.

The other man grinned stupidly as he jumped off the front porch to meet Peter halfway in their gravel driveway. Harley looked like he’d won the lottery while Peter merely shrugged in response. When the two men met in the middle, Peter did what he should have done ages ago: he pulled Harley down by the collar of his hideous flannel and into a kiss.

Vaguely, he could hear Harley’s family hooting and hollering in the background, which was mildly embarrassing, but Peter couldn’t be bothered to care. His hands lazily made their way from the material of Harley’s shirt to the back of his neck while Harley’s found purchase on Peter’s waist, drawing him closer. The kiss started off softly at first, but gradually climbed in intensity until it left Peter dizzy at just how _right_ kissing Harley Keener felt, and wondering _why _he had been denying himself this.

Peter tilted his head back for a better angle and smiled as their lips met again and again. Once they finally broke apart, lungs screaming for air, Peter’s arms tightened around Harley’s neck. His grip on Peter’s waist tightened in response as both men stood in the Keener’s driveway, neither wanting to break their hold just yet. Peter happened to look over Harley’s shoulder and noticed that the other members of his family had gone inside. _Whoops._

“I called May and my grandparents on the way here. They’re not expecting me back in New York until at least Sunday. I don’t care if I have to stay in a hotel, motel, Airbnb, my Volvo or the back of your pick-up truck. I – I just…I can’t leave this,” he gestured wildly to the farm, “or you. Not yet.” Peter was a little breathless as the words rushed out of him. He bit his lip and looked up at Harley, hopeful expression laid bare for the world to see.

“Sugar, like we told you the first day you stepped foot on our property, we’re not fixin’ to kick ya out anytime soon.”

Peter sighed deeply in relief upon hearing Harley’s words. He re-entered the other man’s personal space and pulled him back down into another kiss.

**Epilogue**:

August 10th was a Friday, Peter’s 22nd birthday and a few weeks shy of two months since he stepped off the Keener’s front porch. To celebrate his birthday, Ned and MJ threw a surprise party in their shared Manhattan apartment. Peter had wondered why all his friends kept insisting on keeping Friday night low-key and moving their bar hopping plans to Saturday. Now, he knew.

Upon coming home from his birthday dinner with May, Peter stepped into a completely dark apartment. After a few beats of silence, he flicked on the living room lights and was greeted by the sound of cheers and the sight of multi-colored balloons strung around the fairy lights in their apartment. The view made Peter’s heart soar and his eyes well up with a few tears (not that he’d ever admit it to Ned).

Peter spoke once all the cheers had quieted down, “Guys, I…I don’t even know what to say.”

“Then don’t say anything, just drink.” MJ winked while she handed Peter a shot glass.

Ned came up beside the two and clapped him on the back. “Yeah, it’s your Taylor Swift year, dude!”

“Also, it’s an excuse to throw a party in the apartment.” MJ teased as she slung an arm around Peter.

Peter threw back the shot and relished in the burn of whiskey as the smooth liquid made its way down his throat. Immediately, someone to his left replaced the empty shot glass with an open bottle of beer. Peter’s smile was so wide that it was starting to hurt. He made his way further into his apartment while his gaze washed over a sea of familiar faces, raucous laughter and soft music supplying the background noise. The guests were a mix of college and old high school friends. Peter felt like he was flying.

On the kitchen table was small pile of presents, cards and bottles of alcohol – all for him. Peter’s heart felt so full of love in that moment. Love from his wonderful friends and flatmates. Looking around the room once more, another emotion hit Peter like a freight train. It caused him to grasp onto the back of a wooden dining room chair for support while he sharply inhaled.

Realization struck that there was one thing missing from the scene in front of him.

As if reading Peter’s whirlwind of emotions, MJ came up beside him and gently rested her hand on his arm. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just…”

MJ cut him off, “How about we get you a nice, non-alcoholic drink.”

The two wandered into the kitchen where Peter’s eyes zeroed in on the birthday cake sitting on the counter. She followed his gaze. “Sorry, that was supposed to be a surprise, but…” MJ trailed off.

Peter set his beer down and wrapped her into a tight hug. “Thanks MJ. You and Ned both made tonight perfect. I legitimately don’t know what I did to deserve you guys.”

MJ returned the hug. “I want that in writing, Parker.”

Pulling away with a chuckle, Peter leaned over to inspect his birthday cake. “I don’t know how this night could get any better.”

“Oh, give it a few more minutes.”

Peter shot MJ a confused look but brushed it off, thinking she was making thinly veiled allusions to more surprise activities later in the night. He made his way over to Ned and a few other guys they lived with in their freshman year dorm. The group happily chatted until the sound of knocking stole Peter’s attention.

Over the laughter and music of the party, Peter could distinctly make out the rasp of someone’s knuckles on their apartment door.

“You gonna get that, or not?” MJ was looking over at him from where she sat on the sofa, sly expression on her face. At Peter’s continued ‘deer in headlights’ look, she raised one eyebrow while motioning with her head toward the door.

_Could it be_…

No, Peter had just spoken to him yesterday and he was still very obviously in Tennessee, going by the background of his FaceTime. Peter walked toward the door and his heart thundered louder in his chest with each step. One hand was on the knob and the other held his beer.

Peter steeled himself and opened the apartment door.

Standing on the other side was Harley Keener in the flesh, dressed in a white button down and ridiculously low hanging jeans. A leather duffel back was slung over his shoulder. Peter gaped and set his bottle down on the table in their entryway while Harley walked into the apartment. Neither man said anything for a few beats, preferring to look the other up and down instead.

Harley broke the silence first, “I’m here to collect my debt, city boy.”

Peter’s smile widened impossibly further as he threw himself at Harley to pull the taller man down for a kiss. Harley immediately dropped his duffel to the ground so he could catch Peter. The momentum was enough for Harley to lift Peter and twirl him gently. The room filled with cheers of applause and ‘awws’ from some of the partygoers. Peter didn’t hear any of it though, he was too busy smiling into Harley's mouth. Peter’s palms cupped his neck while Harley’s arms wrapped around Peter's waist, holding him close.

When the two finally pulled away, Peter buried his face in Harley’s neck as the other man let out breathless laughter.

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Peter intertwined their fingers. After Harley tossed his duffel onto a nearby chair, Peter pulled him further into the apartment to rejoin his other guests.

“Told ya, I’m here to collect,” Harley said as an amused smile formed on his lips.

“Well, we don’t have a spare room so you’ll have to share mine.” Peter turned to face him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “If you don’t mind.”

Harley’s hand found Peter’s waist and dragged him closer. “Darlin’, you know I don’t.” He drew out his vowels in the way that Peter had missed oh, so much.

For only knowing three people at Peter’s party, Harley fell into an easy rhythm with the other partygoers for the rest of the night (“It’s my Southern charm,” Harley would insist later the next day). The bash continued in full swing around them well into the early hours of Saturday morning. It was certainly a night for the history books. Much later, when things were quieting down, Peter would look around the room and realize how thankful he was for his friends, his flatmates and his Harley.

Who knew that Peter’s great love story would start in the rolling hills of rural Tennessee?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We did it guys! It's officially the end of Tennessee Whiskey and I am so . damn . _sad_. I have slaved over this story since August, so BIG thanks to everyone who has been following it! TNW holds such a special place in my heart 💖 Thanks for sticking with it 😘💙
> 
> If you liked the fic, please consider dropping a comment, kudos or bookmark!
> 
> @Spooky-Parker on Tumblr


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